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diff --git a/41792-h/41792-h.htm b/41792-h/41792-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4892f58 --- /dev/null +++ b/41792-h/41792-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21081 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Theodore Watts-Dunton, by James Douglas</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Theodore Watts-Dunton, by James Douglas + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Theodore Watts-Dunton + Poet, Novelist, Critic + + +Author: James Douglas + + + +Release Date: January 6, 2013 [eBook #41792] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1904 Hodder and Stoughton edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0ab.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Theodore Watts-Dunton, from a painting by Miss H. B. Norris" +title= +"Theodore Watts-Dunton, from a painting by Miss H. B. Norris" +src="images/p0as.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">POET NOVELIST CRITIC</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +JAMES DOUGLAS</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0bb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic, Natura Benigna" +title= +"Decorative graphic, Natura Benigna" +src="images/p0bs.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">WITH +TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS</span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HODDER AND STOUGHTON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">27 PATERNOSTER ROW</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1904</p> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>SYNOPSIS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER I</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Renascence of Wonder</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER II</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Cowslip Country</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER III</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Critic in the Bud</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER IV</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Characters in the Microcosm</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER V</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Early Glimpses of the +Gypsies</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VI</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sport and Work</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. viii</span>CHAPTER +VII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">East Anglia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VIII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">London</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER IX</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">George Borrow</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER X</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Acted Drama</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XI</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dante Gabriel Rossetti</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">William Morris</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XIII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The ‘Examiner’</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page183">183</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XIV</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The +‘Athenæum’</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page190">190</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ix</span>CHAPTER +XV</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Great Book of Wonder</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page228">228</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XVI</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Humourist upon Humour</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page242">242</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XVII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">‘The Life +Poetic’</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XVIII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">American Friends: Lowell, Bret Harte, +and Others</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page295">295</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XIX</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Wales</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page312">312</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XX</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Imaginative and Didactic +Prose</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page321">321</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XXI</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Methods of Prose +Fiction</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XXII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Story With Two Heroines</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page363">363</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. x</span>CHAPTER +XXIII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Renascence of Wonder in +Religion</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page372">372</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XXIV</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Renascence of Wonder in +Humour</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page382">382</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XXV</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Gorgios and Romanies</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page389">389</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XXVI</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">‘The Coming of +Love’</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XXVIII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">“Christmas at the +‘Mermaid’”</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XXVIII</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Conclusion</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page442">442</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Theodore Watts-Dunton. From a painting by Miss H. B. +Norris</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Frontispiece</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Reverie. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at ‘The +Pines’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Ouse at Houghton Mill, Hunts. (From a Water +Colour by Fraser at ‘The Pines.’)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>‘The Thicket,’ St. Ives. (From a Water +Colour by Fraser at ‘The Pines.’)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Slepe Hall: Cromwell’s Supposed Residence at St. +Ives. (From an Oil Painting at ‘The +Pines.’)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xii</span>‘Evening Dreams with the Poets.’ +(From an Oil Painting at ‘The Pines.’)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Painted +and Carved Cabinet</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Letter Box on the Broads. (From an Oil Painting at +‘The Pines.’)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pandora. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at ‘The +Pines’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>‘The Green Dining Room,’ 16 Cheyne Walk. +(From a Painting by Dunn, at ‘The Pines.’)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>One of the Carved Mirrors at ‘The Pines,’ +decorated with Dunn’s copy of the lost Rossetti Frescoes at +the Oxford Union</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Kelmscott Manor. (From a Water Colour by Miss May +Morris.)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>‘The Pines.’ (From a Drawing by Herbert +Railton.)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiii</span>A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the +Lacquer Cabinet</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page266">266</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Summer at ‘The Pines’—I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Chinese +Divan described in ‘Aylwin’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Summer at ‘The Pines’—II</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page274">274</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>‘Picture for a Story.’ (Face and +Instrument designed by D. G. Rossetti, background by Dunn.)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page276">276</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Ogwen and the Glyders from Carnedd Dafydd</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page312">312</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Moel Siabod and the River Lledr</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page314">314</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Snowdon and Glaslyn</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page318">318</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Henry Aylwin and Winifred under the Cliff. (From an +Oil Painting at ‘The Pines.’)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page342">342</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiv</span>Sinfi Lovell and Pharaoh. (From a Painting at +‘The Pines.’)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>‘John the Pilgrim.’ (By Arthur Hacker, +A.R.A.)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page416">416</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xvi</span>NATURA BENIGNA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><i>What power is this</i>? <i>what witchery +wins my feet</i><br /> +<i>To peaks so sheer they scorn the cloaking snow</i>,<br /> +<i>All silent as the emerald gulfs below</i>,<br /> +<i>Down whose ice-walls the wings of twilight beat</i>?<br /> +<i>What thrill of earth and heaven</i>—<i>most wild</i>, +<i>most sweet</i>—<br /> +<i>What answering pulse that all the senses know</i>,<br /> +<i>Comes leaping from the ruddy eastern glow</i><br /> +<i>Where</i>, <i>far away</i>, <i>the skies and mountains +meet</i>?<br /> +<i>Mother</i>, ’<i>tis I reborn</i>: <i>I know thee +well</i>:<br /> +<i>That throb I know and all it prophesies</i>,<br /> +<i>O Mother and Queen</i>, <i>beneath the olden spell</i><br /> +<i>Of silence</i>, <i>gazing from thy hills and skies</i>!<br /> +<i>Dumb Mother</i>, <i>struggling with the years to tell</i><br +/> +<i>The secret at thy heart through helpless eyes</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0cb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Reverie. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at The Pines" +title= +"Reverie. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at The Pines" +src="images/p0cs.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>Introduction</h2> +<blockquote><p>‘It was necessary for Thomas Hood still to +do one thing ere the wide circle and profound depth of his genius +were to the full acknowledged: that one thing was—to +die.’—<span class="smcap">Douglas Jerrold</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Although</span> in the inner circle of +English letters this study of a living writer will need no +apology, it may be well to explain for the general reader the +reasons which moved me to undertake it.</p> +<p>Some time ago a distinguished scholar, the late S. Arthur +Strong, Librarian of the House of Lords, was asked what had been +the chief source of his education. He replied: +“Cambridge, scholastically, and Watts-Dunton’s +articles in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ and +the ‘Athenæum’ from the purely literary point +of view. I have been a reader of them for many years, and +it would be difficult for me to say what I should have been +without them.” Mr. Richard Le Gallienne has said that +he bought the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ simply +to possess one article—Mr. Watts-Dunton’s article on +Poetry. There are many other men of letters who would give +similar testimony. With regard to his critical work, Mr. +Swinburne in one of his essays, speaking of the treatise on +Poetry, describes Mr. Watts-Dunton as ‘the first critic of +our time, perhaps the largest-minded and surest-sighted of any +age,’ <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a> a judgment which, according to the +article on Mr. Watts-Dunton in Chambers’s +‘Encyclopædia,’ Rossetti endorsed. In +this same article it is further said:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“He came to exercise a most important +influence on the art and culture of the day; but although he has +written enough to fill many volumes—in the +‘Examiner,’ <a name="page2"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 2</span>the ‘Athenæum’ +(since 1876), the ‘Nineteenth Century,’ the +‘Fortnightly Review,’ etc.—he has let year +after year go by without his collecting his essays, which, always +dealing with first principles, have ceased to be really +anonymous, and are quoted by the press both in England and in +Germany as his. But, having wrapped up his talents in a +weekly review, he is only ephemerally known to the general +public, except for the sonnets and other poems that, from the +‘Athenæum,’ etc., have found their way into +anthologies, and for the articles on poetic subjects that he has +contributed to the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ +‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia,’ etc. The +chief note of his poetry—much of it written in +youth—is its individuality, the source of its inspiration +Nature and himself. For he who of all men has most +influenced his brother poets has himself remained least +influenced by them. So, too, his prose +writings—literary mainly, but ranging also over folk-lore, +ethnology, and science generally—are marked as much by +their independence and originality as by their suggestiveness, +harmony, incisive vigour, and depth and breadth of insight. +They have made him a force in literature to which only +Sainte-Beuve, not Jeffrey, is a parallel.” <a +name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2" +class="citation">[2]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>These citations from students of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +work, written before his theory of the ‘Renascence of +Wonder’ was exemplified in ‘Aylwin’ and +‘The Coming of Love,’ show, I think, that this book +would have had a right to exist even if his critical writings had +been collected into volumes; but as this collection has never +been made, and I believe never will be made by the author, I feel +that to do what I am now doing is to render the reading public a +real service. For many <a name="page3"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 3</span>years he has been urged by his friends +to collect his critical articles, but although several men of +letters have offered to relieve him of that task, he has remained +obdurate.</p> +<p>Speaking for myself, I scarcely remember the time when I was +not an eager student of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s writings. +Like most boys born with the itch for writing, I began to spill +ink on paper in my third lustre. The fermentation of the +soul which drove me to write a dreadful elegy, modelled upon +‘Lycidas,’ on the death of an indulgent aunt, also +drove me to welter in drowsy critical journals. By some +humour of chance I stumbled upon the +‘Athenæum,’ and there I found week by week +writing that made me tingle with the rapture of discovery. +The personal magic of some unknown wizard led me into realms of +gold and kingdoms of romance. I used to count the days till +the ‘Athenæum’ appeared in my Irish home, and I +spent my scanty pocket money in binding the piled numbers into +ponderous tomes. Well I remember the advent of the old, +white-bearded Ulster book-binder, bearing my precious volumes: +even now I can smell the pungent odour of the damp paste and +glue. In those days I was a solitary bookworm, living far +from London, and I vainly tried to discover the name of the +magician who was carrying me into so ‘many goodly states +and kingdoms.’ With boyish audacity I wrote to the +editor of the ‘Athenæum,’ begging him to +disclose the secret; and I am sure my naïve appeal provoked +a smile in Took’s Court. But although the editor was +dumb, I exulted in the meagre apparition of my initials, +‘J. D.,’ under the solemn rubric, ‘To +Correspondents.’</p> +<p>It was by collating certain signed sonnets and signed articles +with the unsigned critical essays that I at last discovered the +name of my hero, Theodore Watts. Of <a +name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>course, the +sonnets set me sonneteering, and when my execrable imitation of +‘Australia’s Mother’ was printed in the +‘Belfast News-Letter’ I felt like Byron when he woke +up and found himself famous. Afterwards, when I had plunged +into the surf of literary London, I learnt that the writer who +had turned my boyhood into a romantic paradise was well known in +cultivated circles, but quite unknown outside them.</p> +<p>There was, indeed, no account of him in print. It was +not till 1887 that I found a brief but masterly memoir in +‘Celebrities of the Century.’ The article +concluded with the statement that in the +‘Athenæum’ and in the Ninth Edition of the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ Mr. Watts-Dunton had +‘founded a school of criticism which discarded conventional +authority, and sought to test all literary effects by the light +of first principles merely.’ These words encouraged +me, for they told me that as a boy I had not been wrong in +thinking that I had discovered a master and a guide in +literature. Then came the memoir of Philip Bourke Marston +by the American poetess, Louise Chandler Moulton, in which she +described Mr. Watts-Dunton as ‘a poet whose noble work won +for him the intimate friendship of Rossetti and Browning and Lord +Tennyson, and was the first link in that chain of more than +brotherly love which binds him to Swinburne, his housemate at +present and for many years past.’ I also came across +Clarence Stedman’s remarks upon the opening of ‘The +Coming of Love,’ ‘Mother Carey’s +Chicken,’ first printed in the +‘Athenæum.’ He was enthusiastic about the +poet’s perception of ‘Nature’s grander +aspects,’ and spoke of his poetry as being ‘quite +independent of any bias derived from the eminent poets with whom +his life has been closely associated.’</p> +<p><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>When +afterwards I made his acquaintance, our intercourse led to the +formation of a friendship which has deepened my gratitude for the +spiritual and intellectual guidance I have found in his writings +for nearly twenty years. Owing to the popularity of +‘The Coming of Love’ and of +‘Aylwin’—which the late Lord Acton, in +‘The Annals of Politics and Culture,’ placed at the +head of the three most important books published in +1898—Mr. Watts-Dunton’s name is now familiar to every +fairly educated person. About few men living is there so +much literary curiosity; and this again is a reason for writing a +book about him.</p> +<p>The idea of making an elaborate study of his work, however, +did not come to me until I received an invitation from Dr. +Patrick, the editor of Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia +of English Literature,’ to write for that publication an +article on Mr. Watts-Dunton—an article which had been +allotted to Professor Strong, but which he had been obliged +through indisposition to abandon at the last moment. I +undertook to do this. But within the limited space at my +command I was able only very briefly to discuss his work as a +poet. Soon afterwards I was invited by my friend, Dr. +Robertson Nicoll, to write a monograph upon Mr. Watts-Dunton for +Messrs. Hodder & Stoughton, and, if I should see my way to do +so, to sound him on the subject. My only difficulty was in +approaching Mr. Watts-Dunton, for I knew how constantly he had +been urged by the press to collect his essays, and how +persistently he had declined to do so. Nevertheless, I +wrote to him, telling him how gladly I should undertake the task, +and how sure I was that the book was called for. His answer +was so characteristic that I must give it here:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mr. +Douglas</span>,—It must now be something like fifteen years +since Mr. John Lane, who was then compiling a bibliography of +George Meredith, asked me to consent to his compiling a +bibliography of my articles in the ‘Athenæum’ +and elsewhere, and although I emphatically declined to sanction +such a bibliography, he on several occasions did me the honour to +renew his request. I told him, as I have told one or two +other generous friends, that although I had put into these +articles the best criticism and the best thought at my command, I +considered them too formless to have other than an ephemeral +life. I must especially mention the name of Mr. Alfred +Nutt, who for years has been urging me to let him publish a +selection from my critical essays. I am really proud to +record this, because Mr. Nutt is not only an eminent publisher +but an admirable scholar and a man of astonishing +accomplishments. I had for years, let me confess, cherished +the idea that some day I might be able to take my various +expressions of opinion upon literature, especially upon poetry, +and mould them into a coherent and, perhaps, into a harmonious +whole. This alone would have satisfied me. But year +by year the body of critical writing from my pen has grown, and I +felt and feel more and more unequal to the task of grappling with +such a mass. To the last writer of eminence who gratified +me by suggesting a collection of these essays—Dr. Robertson +Nicoll—I wrote, and wrote it with entire candour, that in +my opinion the view generally taken of the value of them is too +generous. Still, they are the result of a good deal of +reflection and not a little research, especially those in the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ and I am not so +entirely without literary aspiration as not to regret that, years +ago, when the mass of material was more manageable, <a +name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>I neglected to +collect them and edit them myself. But the impulse to do +this is now gone. Owing to the quite unexpected popularity +of ‘The Coming of Love’ and of ‘Aylwin,’ +my mind has been diverted from criticism, and plunged into those +much more fascinating waters of poetry and fiction in which I +used to revel long before. If you really think that a +selection of passages from the articles, and a critical +examination and estimate of the imaginative work would be of +interest to any considerable body of readers, I do not know why I +should withhold my consent. But I confess, judging from +such work of your own as I have seen, I find it difficult to +believe that it is worth your while to enter upon any such +task.</p> +<p>I agree with you that it is difficult to see how you are to +present and expound the principles of criticism advanced in the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ the +‘Athenæum,’ etc., without discussing those two +imaginative works the writing of which inspired the canons and +generalizations in the critical work—‘Aylwin’ +and ‘The Coming of Love.’ As regards +‘Aylwin,’ however, I cannot help wincing under the +thought that in these days when so much genius is at work in +prose fiction, your discussion will seem to give quite an undue +prominence to a writer who has published but one novel. +This I confess does disturb me somewhat, and I wish you to bear +well in mind this aspect of the matter before you seriously +undertake the book. As to the prose fiction of the present +moment, I constantly stand amazed at its wealth. If, +however, you do touch upon ‘Aylwin,’ I hope you will +modify those generous—too generous—expressions of +yours which, I remember, you printed in a review of the book when +it first appeared.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>After +getting this sanction I set to work, and soon found that my chief +obstacle was the superabundance of material, which would fill +several folio volumes. But although it is undoubtedly +‘a mighty maze,’ it is ‘not without a +plan.’ In a certain sense the vast number of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s generalizations upon literature, art, +philosophy, and what Emerson calls ‘the conduct of +life,’ revolve round certain fixed principles which have +guided me in the selection I have made. I also found that +to understand these principles of romantic art, it was necessary +to make a thorough critical study of the romance, +‘Aylwin,’ and of the book of poems, ‘The Coming +of Love.’ I think I have made that study, and that I +have connected the critical system with the imaginative work more +thoroughly than has been done by any other writer, although the +work of Mr. Watts-Dunton, both creative and critical, has been +acutely discussed, not only in England but also in France and in +Italy.</p> +<p>The creative originality of his criticism is as absolute as +that of his poetry and fiction. He poured into his +criticism the intellectual and imaginative force which other men +pour into purely artistic channels, for he made criticism a +vehicle for his humour, his philosophy, and his irony. His +criticisms are the reflections of a lifetime. Their +vitality is not impaired by the impermanence of their +texts. No critic has surpassed his universality of +range. Out of a full intellectual and imaginative life he +has evolved speculations which cut deep not only into the fibre +of modern thought but into the future of human development. +Great teachers have their day and their disciples. Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s day and disciples belong to the young future +whose dawn some of us already descry. For, as Mr. Justin +McCarthy <a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>wrote of ‘Aylwin,’ ‘it is inspired by +the very spirit of youth,’ and this is why so many of the +younger writers are beginning to accept him as their guide. +Mr. Watts-Dunton has built up a new optimistic philosophy of life +which, I think, is sure to arrest the devastating march of the +pessimists across the history of the soul of man. That is +the aspect of his work which calls for the comprehension of the +new generation. The old cosmogonies are dead; here is the +new cosmogony, the cosmogony in which the impulse of wonder +reasserts its sovereignty, proclaiming anew the nobler religion +of the spiritual imagination, with a faith in Natura Benigna +which no assaults of science can shake.</p> +<p>But, although the main object of this book is to focus, as it +were, the many scattered utterances of Mr. Watts-Dunton in prose +and poetry upon the great subject of the Renascence of Wonder, I +have interspersed here and there essays which do not touch upon +this theme, and also excerpts from those obituary notices of his +friends which formed so fascinating a part of his contributions +to the ‘Athenæum.’ For, of course, it was +necessary to give the charm of variety to the book. +Rossetti used to say, I believe, that there is one quality +necessary in a poem which very many poets are apt to +ignore—the quality of being amusing. I have always +thought that there is great truth in this, and I have also +thought that the remark is applicable to prose no less than to +poetry. This is why I have occasionally enlivened these +pages with extracts from his picturesque monographs; indeed, I +have done more than this. Not having known Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s great contemporaries myself, I have looked +about me for the aid of certain others who did know them. I +have not hesitated to collect from various sources such facts and +details connected with Mr. Watts-Dunton <a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>and his +friends as are necessarily beyond the scope of my own experience +and knowledge. Among these I must prominently mention one +to whom I have been specially indebted for reminiscences of Mr. +Watts-Dunton and his circle. This is Mr. Thomas St. E. +Hake, eldest son of the ‘parable poet,’ a gentleman +of much too modest and retiring a disposition, who, from Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s first appearance in London right onwards, +was brought into intimate relations with himself, his relatives, +Rossetti, William Morris, Westland Marston, Philip Bourke +Marston, Madox Brown, George Borrow, Stevenson, Minto, and many +others. I have not only made free use of his articles, but +I have had the greatest aid from him in many other respects, and +it is my bare duty to express my gratitude to him for his +services. I have also to thank the editor of the +‘Athenæum’ for cordially granting me permission +to quote so freely from its columns; and I take this opportunity +of acknowledging my debt to the many other publications from +which I have drawn materials for this book.</p> +<h2><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>Chapter I<br /> +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER</h2> +<blockquote><p>“‘The renascence of wonder,’ to +employ Mr. Watts-Dunton’s appellation for what he justly +considers the most striking and significant feature in the great +romantic revival which has transformed literature, is proclaimed +by this very appellation not to be the achievement of any one +innovator, but a general reawakening of mankind to a perception +that there were more things in heaven and earth than were dreamt +of in Horatio’s philosophy.”—<span +class="smcap">Dr. R. Garnett</span>: Monograph on Coleridge.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Undoubtedly</span> the greatest +philosophical generalization of our time is expressed in the four +words, ‘The Renascence of Wonder.’ They suggest +that great spiritual theory of the universe which, according to +Mr. Watts-Dunton, is bound to follow the wave of materialism that +set in after the publication of Darwin’s great book. +This phrase, which I first became familiar with in his +‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ article on Rossetti, +seems really to have been used first in +‘Aylwin.’ The story seems originally to have +been called ‘The Renascence of Wonder,’ but the title +was abandoned because the writer believed that an un-suggestive +name, such as that of the autobiographer, was better from the +practical point of view. For the knowledge of this I am +indebted to Mr. Hake, who says:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>“During the time that Mr. Swinburne was living in +Great James Street, several of his friends had chambers in the +same street, and among them were my late father, Dr. Gordon +Hake—Rossetti’s friend and physician—Mr. +Watts-Dunton and myself. Mr. Watts-Dunton, as is well +known, was a brilliant raconteur long before he became famous as +a writer. I have heard him tell scores of stories full of +plot and character that have never appeared in print. On a +certain occasion he was suffering from one of his periodical eye +troubles that had used occasionally to embarrass him. He +had just been telling Mr. Swinburne the plot of a suggested +story, the motive of which was the ‘renascence of wonder in +art and poetry’ depicting certain well-known +characters.</p> +<p>I offered to act as his amanuensis in writing the story, and +did so, with the occasional aid of my father and brothers. +The story was sent to the late F. W. Robinson, the novelist, then +at the zenith of his vogue, who declared that he ‘saw a +fortune in it,’ and it was he who advised the author to +send it to Messrs. Hurst & Blackett. As far as I +remember, the time occupied by the work was between five and six +months. When a large portion of it was in type it was read +by many friends,—among others by the late Madox Brown, who +thought some of the portraits too close, as the characters were +then all living, except one, the character who figures as +Cyril. Although unpublished, it was so well known that an +article upon it appeared in the ‘Liverpool +Mercury.’ This was more than twenty years +ago.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The important matter before us, however, is not when he first +used this phrase, which has now become a sort of literary +shorthand to express a wide and sweeping idea, but what it +actually imports. Fortunately Mr. Watts-Dunton <a +name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>has quite +lately given us a luminous exposition of what the words do +precisely mean. Last year he wrote for that invaluable +work, Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature,’ the Introduction to volume iii., and no one +can any longer say that there is any ambiguity in this now famous +phrase:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“As the storm-wind is the cause and not the +effect of the mighty billows at sea, so the movement in question +was the cause and not the effect of the French Revolution. +It was nothing less than a great revived movement of the soul of +man, after a long period of prosaic acceptance in all things, +including literature and art. To this revival the present +writer, in the introduction to an imaginative work dealing with +this movement, has already, for convenience’ sake, and in +default of a better one, given the name of the Renascence of +Wonder. As was said on that occasion, ‘The phrase, +the Renascence of Wonder, merely indicates that there are two +great impulses governing man, and probably not man only, but the +entire world of conscious life: the impulse of +acceptance—the impulse to take unchallenged and for granted +all the phenomena of the outer world as they are—and the +impulse to confront these phenomena with eyes of inquiry and +wonder.’ It would seem that something works as +inevitably and as logically as a physical law in the yearning +which societies in a certain stage of development show to get +away, as far away as possible, from the condition of the natural +man; to get away from that despised condition not only in +material affairs, such as dress, domestic arrangements and +economies, but also in the fine arts and in intellectual methods, +till, having passed that inevitable stage, each society is liable +to suffer (even if it does not in some cases actually suffer) a +reaction, <a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>when nature and art are likely again to take the place +of convention and artifice. Anthropologists have often +asked, what was that lever-power lying enfolded in the dark womb +of some remote semi-human brain, which, by first stirring, +lifting, and vitalizing other potential and latent faculties, +gave birth to man? Would it be rash to assume that this +lever-power was a vigorous movement of the faculty of +wonder? But certainly it is not rash, as regards the races +of man, to affirm that the more intelligent the race the less it +is governed by the instinct of acceptance, and the more it is +governed by the instinct of wonder, that instinct which leads to +the movement of challenge. The alternate action of the two +great warring instincts is specially seen just now in the +Japanese. Here the instinct of challenge which results in +progress became active up to a certain point, and then suddenly +became arrested, leaving the instinct of acceptance to have full +play, and then everything became crystallized. Ages upon +ages of an immense activity of the instinct of challenge were +required before the Mongolian savage was developed into the +Japanese of the period before the nature-worship of +‘Shinto’ had been assaulted by dogmatic +Buddhism. But by that time the instinct of challenge had +resulted in such a high state of civilization that acceptance set +in and there was an end, for the time being, of progress. +There is no room here to say even a few words upon other great +revivals in past times, such, for instance, as the Jewish-Arabian +renascence of the ninth and tenth centuries, when the interest in +philosophical speculation, which had previously been arrested, +was revived; when the old sciences were revived; and when some +modern sciences were born. There are, of course, different +kinds of wonder.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>This +passage has a peculiar interest for me, because I instinctively +compare it with the author’s speech delivered at the St. +Ives old Union Book Club dinner when he was a boy. It shows +the same wide vision, the same sweep, and the same rush of +eloquence. It is in view of this great generalization that +I have determined to quote that speech later.</p> +<p>The essay then goes on in a swift way to point out the +different kinds of wonder:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Primitive poetry is full of +wonder—the naïve and eager wonder of the healthy +child. It is this kind of wonder which makes the +‘Iliad’ and the ‘Odyssey’ so +delightful. The wonder of primitive poetry passes as the +primitive conditions of civilization pass; and then for the most +part it can only be succeeded by a very different kind of +wonder—the wonder aroused by a recognition of the mystery +of man’s life and the mystery of nature’s theatre on +which the human drama is played—the wonder, in short, of +Æschylus and Sophocles. And among the Romans, Virgil, +though living under the same kind of Augustan acceptance in which +Horace, the typical poet of acceptance, lived, is full of this +latter kind of wonder. Among the English poets who preceded +the great Elizabethan epoch there is no room, and indeed there is +no need, to allude to any poet besides Chaucer; and even he can +only be slightly touched upon. He stands at the head of +those who are organized to see more clearly than we can ourselves +see the wonder of the ‘world at hand.’ Of the +poets whose wonder is of the simply terrene kind, those whose +eyes are occupied by the beauty of the earth and the romance of +human life, he is the English king. But it is not the +wonder of Chaucer that is to be specially discussed in the +following sentences. It is the spiritual <a +name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>wonder which +in our literature came afterwards. It is that kind of +wonder which filled the souls of Spenser, of Marlowe, of +Shakespeare, of Webster, of Ford, of Cyril Tourneur, and of the +old ballads: it is that poetical attitude which the human mind +assumes when confronting those unseen powers of the universe who, +if they did not weave the web in which man finds himself +entangled, dominate it. That this high temper should have +passed and given place to a temper of prosaic acceptance is quite +inexplicable, save by the theory of the action and reaction of +the two great warring impulses advanced in the foregoing extract +from the Introduction to ‘Aylwin.’ Perhaps the +difference between the temper of the Elizabethan period and the +temper of the Chaucerian on the one hand, and Augustanism on the +other, will be better understood by a brief reference to the +humour of the respective periods.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then come luminous remarks upon his theory of absolute and +relative humour, which I shall deal with in relation to that type +of absolute humour, his own Mrs. Gudgeon in +‘Aylwin.’</p> +<p>I will now quote a passage from an article in the +‘Quarterly Review’ on William Morris by one of +Morris’s intimate friends:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The decorative renascence in England is but +an expression of the spirit of the pre-Raphaelite +movement—a movement which has been defined by the most +eminent of living critics as the renascence of the ‘spirit +of wonder’ in poetry and art. So defined, it falls +into proper relationship with the continuous development of +English literature, and of the romantic movement, during the last +century and a half, and is no longer to be <a +name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>considered an +isolated phenomenon called into being by an erratic genius. +The English Romantic school, from its first inception with +Chatterton, Macpherson, and the publication of the Percy ballads, +does not, as Mr. Watts-Dunton has finely pointed out, aim merely +at the revival of natural language; it seeks rather to reach +through art and the forgotten world of old romance, that world of +wonder and mystery and spiritual beauty of which poets gain +glimpses through</p> +<p> magic +casements, opening on the foam<br /> +Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In an essay on Rossetti, Mr. Watts-Dunton says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It was by inevitable instinct that Rossetti +turned to that mysterious side of nature and man’s life +which to other painters of his time had been a mere fancy-land, +to be visited, if at all, on the wings of sport. It is not +only in such masterpieces of his maturity as Dante’s Dream, +La Pia, etc., but in such early designs as How they Met +Themselves, La Belle Dame sans Merci, Cassandra, etc., that +Rossetti shows how important a figure he is in the history of +modern art, if modern art claims to be anything more than a +mechanical imitation of the facts of nature.</p> +<p>For if there is any permanent vitality in the Renascence of +Wonder in modern Europe, if it is not a mere passing mood, if it +is really the inevitable expression of the soul of man in a +certain stage of civilization (when the sanctions which have made +and moulded society are found to be not absolute and eternal, but +relative, mundane, ephemeral, and subject to the higher sanctions +of unseen powers that work behind ‘the shows of <a +name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>things’), then perhaps one of the first questions +to ask in regard to any imaginative painter of the nineteenth +century is, In what relation does he stand to the newly-awakened +spirit of romance? Had he a genuine and independent +sympathy with that temper of wonder and mystery which all over +Europe had preceded and now followed the temper of imitation, +prosaic acceptance, pseudo-classicism, and domestic +materialism? Or was his apparent sympathy with the temper +of wonder, reverence and awe the result of artistic environment +dictated to him by other and more powerful and original souls +around him? I do not say that the mere fact of a +painter’s or poet’s showing but an imperfect sympathy +with the Renascence of Wonder is sufficient to place him below a +poet in whom that sympathy is more nearly complete, because we +should then be driven to place some of the disciples of Rossetti +above our great realistic painters, and we should be driven to +place a poet like the author of ‘The Excursion’ and +‘The Prelude’ beneath a poet like the author of +‘The Queen’s Wake’; but we do say that, other +things being equal or anything like equal, a painter or poet of +our time is to be judged very much by his sympathy with that +great movement which we call the Renascence of Wonder—call +it so because the word romanticism never did express it even +before it had been vulgarized by French poets, dramatists, +doctrinaires, and literary harlequins.</p> +<p>To struggle against the prim traditions of the eighteenth +century, the unities of Aristotle, the delineation of types +instead of character, as Chateaubriand, Madame de Staël, +Balzac, and Hugo struggled, was well. But in studying +Rossetti’s works we reach the very key of those ‘high +palaces of romance’ which the English mind had never, even +in the eighteenth century, wholly forgotten, <a +name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>but whose +mystic gates no Frenchman ever yet unlocked. Not all the +romantic feeling to be found in all the French romanticists (with +their theory that not earnestness but the grotesque is the +life-blood of romance) could equal the romantic spirit expressed +in a single picture or drawing of Rossetti’s, such, for +instance, as Beata Beatrix or Pandora.</p> +<p>For while the French romanticists—inspired by the +theories (drawn from English exemplars) of Novalis, Tieck, and +Herder—cleverly simulated the old romantic feeling, the +‘beautifully devotional feeling’ which Holman Hunt +speaks of, Rossetti was steeped in it: he was so full of the old +frank childlike wonder and awe which preceded the great +renascence of materialism that he might have lived and worked +amidst the old masters. Hence, in point of design, so +original is he that to match such ideas as are expressed in +Lilith, Hesterna Rosa, Michael Scott’s Wooing, the Sea +Spell, etc., we have to turn to the sister art of poetry, where +only we can find an equally powerful artistic representation of +the idea at the core of the old romanticism—the idea of the +evil forces of nature assailing man through his sense of +beauty. We must turn, we say, not to art—not even to +the old masters themselves—but to the most perfect +efflorescence of the poetry of wonder and mystery—to such +ballads as ‘The Demon Lover,’ to Coleridge’s +‘Christabel’ and ‘Kubla Khan,’ to +Keats’s ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci,’ for +parallels to Rossetti’s most characteristic +designs.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>These words about Coleridge recall to the students of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s work a splendid illustration of the true +wonder of the great poetic temper which he gives in the +before-mentioned essay on The Renascence of <a +name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>Wonder in +Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Coleridge’s ‘Christabel,’ +‘The Ancient Mariner,’ and ‘Kubla Khan’ +are, as regards the romantic spirit, above—and far +above—any work of any other English poet. Instances +innumerable might be adduced showing how his very nature was +steeped in the fountain from which the old balladists themselves +drew, but in this brief and rapid survey there is room to give +only one. In the ‘Conclusion’ of the first part +of ‘Christabel’ he recapitulates and summarizes, in +lines that are at once matchless as poetry and matchless in +succinctness of statement, the entire story of the bewitched +maiden and her terrible foe which had gone before:—</p> +<p>A star hath set, a star hath risen,<br /> +O Geraldine! since arms of thine<br /> +Have been the lovely lady’s prison.<br /> +O Geraldine! one hour was thine—<br /> +Thou’st had thy will! By tairn and rill,<br /> +The night-birds all that hour were still.<br /> +But now they are jubilant anew,<br /> +From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu-whoo!<br /> +Tu-whoo! tu-whoo! from wood and fell!</p> +<p>Here we get that feeling of the inextricable web in which the +human drama and external nature are woven which is the very soul +of poetic wonder. So great is the maleficent power of the +beautiful witch that a spell is thrown over all Nature. For +an hour the very woods and fells remain in a shuddering state of +sympathetic consciousness of her—</p> +<p>The night-birds all that hour were still.</p> +<p>When the spell is passed Nature awakes as from a hideous +nightmare, and ‘the night-birds’ are jubilant +anew. <a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>This is the very highest reach of poetic +wonder—finer, if that be possible, than the night-storm +during the murder of Duncan.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And now let us turn again to the essay upon Rossetti from +which I have already quoted:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Although the idea at the heart of the +highest romantic poetry (allied perhaps to that apprehension of +the warring of man’s soul with the appetites of the flesh +which is the basis of the Christian idea), may not belong +exclusively to what we call the romantic temper (the Greeks, and +also most Asiatic peoples, were more or less familiar with it, as +we see in the ‘Salámán’ and +‘Absál’ of Jámí), yet it became +a peculiarly romantic note, as is seen from the fact that in the +old masters it resulted in that asceticism which is its logical +expression and which was once an inseparable incident of all +romantic art. But, in order to express this stupendous idea +as fully as the poets have expressed it, how is it possible to +adopt the asceticism of the old masters? This is the +question that Rossetti asked himself, and answered by his own +progress in art.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the same article, Mr. Watts-Dunton discusses the crowning +specimen of Rossetti’s romanticism before it had, as it +were, gone to seed and passed into pure mysticism, the grand +design, ‘Pandora,’ of which he possesses by far the +noblest version:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“In it is seen at its highest +Rossetti’s unique faculty of treating classical legend in +the true romantic spirit. The grand and sombre beauty of +Pandora’s face, the mysterious haunting sadness in her deep +blue-grey eyes <a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>as she tries in vain to re-close the fatal box from +which are still escaping the smoke and flames that shape +themselves as they curl over her head into shadowy spirit faces, +grey with agony, between tortured wings of sullen fire, are in +the highest romantic mood.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is my privilege to be allowed to give here a reproduction +of this masterpiece, for which I and my publishers cannot be too +grateful. The influence of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +teachings is seen in the fact that the idea of the Renascence of +Wonder has become expanded by theological writers and divines in +order to include within its scope subjects connected with +religion. Among others Dr. Robertson Nicoll has widened its +ambit in a remarkable way in an essay upon Dr. Alexander +White’s ‘Appreciation’ of Bishop Butler. +He quotes one of the Logia discovered by the explorers of the +Egypt Fund:—‘Let not him that seeketh cease from his +search until he find, and when he finds he shall wonder: +wondering he shall reach the kingdom, and when he reaches the +kingdom he shall have rest.’ He then points out that +Bishop Butler was ‘one of the first to share in the +Renascence of Wonder, which was the Renascence of +religion.’</p> +<p>And now I must quote a passage alluding to the generalization +upon absolute and relative humour which I shall give later when +discussing the humour of Mrs. Gudgeon. I shall not be able +in these remarks to dwell upon Mr. Watts-Dunton as a humourist, +but the extracts will speak for themselves. Writing of the +great social Pyramid of the Augustan age, Mr. Watts-Dunton +says:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>“This Augustan pyramid of ours had all the +symmetry which Blackstone so much admired in the English +constitution and its laws; and when, afterwards, the American +colonies came to revolt and set up a pyramid of their own, it was +on the Blackstonian model. At the base—patient as the +tortoise beneath the elephant in the Indian cosmogony—was +the people, born to be the base and born for nothing else. +Resting on this foundation were the middle classes in their +various strata, each stratum sharply marked off from the +others. Then above these was the strictly genteel class, +the patriciate, picturesque and elegant in dress if in nothing +else, whose privileges were theirs as a matter of right. +Above the patriciate was the earthly source of gentility, the +monarch, who would, no doubt, have been the very apex of the +sacred structure save that a little—a very +little—above him sat God, the suzerain to whom the prayers +even of the monarch himself were addressed. The leaders of +the Rebellion had certainly done a daring thing, and an original +thing, by striking off the apex of this pyramid, and it might +reasonably have been expected that the building itself would +collapse and crumble away. But it did nothing of the +kind. It was simply a pyramid with the apex cut off—a +structure to serve afterwards as a model of the American and +French pyramids, both of which, though aspiring to be original +structures, are really built on exactly the same scheme of +hereditary honour and dishonour as that upon which the pyramids +of Nineveh and Babylon were no doubt built. Then came the +Restoration: the apex was restored: the structure was again +complete; it was, indeed, more solid than ever, stronger than +ever.</p> +<p>With regard to what we have called the realistic side of the +romantic movement as distinguished from its <a +name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>purely +poetical and supernatural side, Nature was for the Augustan +temper much too ungenteel to be described realistically. +Yet we must not suppose that in the eighteenth century Nature +turned out men without imaginations, without the natural gift of +emotional speech, and without the faculty of gazing honestly in +her face. She does not work in that way. In the time +of the mammoth and the cave-bear she will give birth to a great +artist whose materials may be a flint and a tusk. In the +period before Greece was Greece, among a handful of Achaians she +will give birth to the greatest poet, or, perhaps we should say, +the greatest group of poets, the world has ever yet seen. +In the time of Elizabeth she will give birth, among the +illiterate yeomen of a diminutive country town, to a dramatist +with such inconceivable insight and intellectual breadth that his +generalizations cover not only the intellectual limbs of his own +time, but the intellectual limbs of so complex an epoch as the +twentieth century.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Rossetti had the theory, I believe, that important as humour +is in prose fiction and also in worldly verse, it cannot be got +into romantic poetry, as he himself understood romantic poetry; +for he did not class ballads like Kinmont Willie, where there are +such superb touches of humour, among the romantic ballads. +And, as Mr. Watts-Dunton has somewhere remarked, his poems, like +Morris’s, are entirely devoid of humour, although both the +poets were humourists. But the readers of Rhona’s +Letters in ‘The Coming of Love’ will admit that a +delicious humour can be imported into the highest romantic +poetry.</p> +<p>With one more quotation from the essay in Chambers’s +‘Cyclopædia of English Literature,’ I must +conclude <a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>my remarks upon the keynote of all Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s work, whether imaginative or +critical:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The period of wonder in English poetry may +perhaps be said to have ended with Milton. For Milton, +although born only twenty-three years before the first of the +great poets of acceptance, Dryden, belongs properly to the period +of romantic poetry. He has no relation whatever to the +poetry of Augustanism which followed Dryden, and which Dryden +received partly from France and partly from certain +contemporaries of the great romantic dramatists themselves, +headed by Ben Jonson. From the moment when Augustanism +really began—in the latter decades of the seventeenth +century—the periwig poetry of Dryden and Pope crushed out +all the natural singing of the true poets. All the periwig +poets became too ‘polite’ to be natural. As +acceptance is, of course, the parent of Augustanism or gentility, +the most genteel character in the world is a Chinese mandarin, to +whom everything is vulgar that contradicts the symmetry of the +pyramid of Cathay.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>One of the things I purpose to show in this book is that the +most powerful expression of the Renascence of Wonder is not in +Rossetti’s poems, nor yet in his pictures, nor is it in +‘Aylwin,’ but in ‘The Coming of +Love.’ But in order fully to understand Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s work it is necessary to know something of +his life-history, and thanks to the aid I have received from +certain of his friends, and also to a little topographical work, +the ‘History of St. Ives,’ by Mr. Herbert E. Norris, +F.E.S., I shall be able to give glimpses of his early life long +before he was known in London.</p> +<h2><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>Chapter II<br /> +COWSLIP COUNTRY</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> time ago I was dipping into +the ‘official pictorial guides’ of those three great +trunk railways, the Midland, the Great Northern, and the Great +Eastern, being curious to see what they had to say about St. +Ives—not the famous town in Cornwall, but the little town +in Huntingdonshire where, according to Carlyle, Oliver Cromwell +spent those five years of meditation upon which his after life +was nourished. In the Great Northern Guide I stumbled upon +these words: ‘At Slepe Hall dwelt the future Lord +Protector, Oliver Cromwell, but by many this little +Huntingdonshire town will be even better known as the birthplace +of Mr. Theodore Watts-Dunton, whose exquisite examples of the +English sonnet and judicious criticisms in the kindred realms of +poetry and art are familiar to lovers of our national +literature.’ ‘Well,’ I thought, when I +found similar remarks in the other two guides, ‘here at +least is one case in which a prophet has honour in his own +country.’ This set me musing over a subject which had +often tantalized me during my early Irish days, the whimsical +workings of the Spirit of Place. To a poet, what are the +advantages and what are the disadvantages of being born in a +microcosm like St. Ives? If the fame of Mr. Watts-Dunton as +a poet were as great as that of his living friend, Mr. Swinburne, +or as that of his dead friend, Rossetti, I should not have been +surprised to find the place of his birth thus <a +name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>associated +with his name. But whether or not Rossetti was right in +saying that Mr. Watts-Dunton ‘had sought obscurity as other +poets seek fame,’ it is certain that until quite lately he +neglected to claim his proper place among his peers. +Doubtless, as the ‘Journal des Débats’ has +pointed out, the very originality of his work, both in subject +and in style, has retarded the popular recognition of its unique +quality; but although the names of Rossetti and Swinburne echo +through the world, there is one respect in which they were less +lucky than their friend. They were born in the macrocosm of +London, where the Spirit of Place has so much to attend to that +his memory can find but a small corner even for the author of +‘The Blessed Damozel,’ or for the author of +‘Atalanta in Calydon.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton was born in the microcosm which was in those +corn law repeal days a little metropolis in Cowslip +Country—Buttercup Land, as the Ouse lanes are sometimes +called, and therefore he was born to good luck. Cowslip +Country will be as closely associated with him and with Rhona +Boswell as Wessex is associated with Thomas Hardy and with Tess +of the D’Urbervilles. For the poet born in a +microcosm becomes identified with it in the public eye, whereas +the poet born in a macrocosm is seldom associated with his +birthplace.</p> +<p>To the novelist, if not to the poet, there is a still greater +advantage in being born in a microcosm. He sees the drama +of life from a point of view entirely different from that of the +novelist born in the macrocosm. The human microbe, or, as +Mr. John Morley might prefer to say, the human cheese-mite in the +macrocosm sees every other microbe or every other cheese-mite on +the flat, but in the microcosm he sees every other microbe or +every other cheese-mite in the round.</p> +<p><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s work is saturated with memories of the +Ouse. Cowper had already described the Ouse, but it was Mr. +Watts-Dunton who first flung the rainbow of romance over the +river and over the sweet meadows of Cowslip Land, through which +it flows. In these lines he has described a sunset on the +Ouse:—</p> +<blockquote><p>More mellow falls the light and still more +mellow<br /> +Around the boat, as we two glide along<br /> +’Tween grassy banks she loves where, tall and strong,<br /> +The buttercups stand gleaming, smiling, yellow.<br /> +She knows the nightingales of ‘Portobello’;<br /> +Love makes her know each bird! In all that throng<br /> +No voice seems like another: soul is song,<br /> +And never nightingale was like its fellow;<br /> +For, whether born in breast of Love’s own bird,<br /> +Singing its passion in those islet bowers<br /> +Whose sunset-coloured maze of leaves and flowers<br /> +The rosy river’s glowing arms engird,<br /> +Or born in human souls—twin souls like ours—<br /> +Song leaps from deeps unplumbed by spoken word.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p28b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The Ouse at Houghton Mill, Hunts. (From a Water Colour by +Fraser at ‘The Pines.’)" +title= +"The Ouse at Houghton Mill, Hunts. (From a Water Colour by +Fraser at ‘The Pines.’)" +src="images/p28s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Now, will it be believed that this lovely river—so +famous too among English anglers for its roach, perch, pike, +dace, chub, and gudgeon—has been libelled? Yes, it +has been libelled, and libelled by no less a person than Thomas +Carlyle. Mr. Norris, vindicating with righteous wrath the +reputation of his beloved Ouse, says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“There is, as far as I know, nothing like +the Ouse elsewhere in England. I do not mean that our river +surpasses or even equals in picturesqueness such rivers as the +Wye, the Severn, the Thames, but that its beauty is unique. +There is not to be seen anywhere else so wide and stately a +stream moving so slowly and yet so clearly. Consequently +there is no other river which reflects with <a +name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>such beauty +the scenery of the clouds floating overhead. This, I think, +is owing to the stream moving over a bottom which is both flat +and gravelly. When Carlyle spoke of the Ouse dragging in a +half-stagnant way under a coating of floating oils, he showed +‘how vivid were his perceptive faculties and also how +untrustworthy.’ I have made a good deal of enquiry +into the matter of Carlyle’s visit to St. Ives, and have +learnt that, having spent some time exploring Ely Cathedral in +search of mementoes of Cromwell, he rode on to St. Ives, and +spent about an hour there before proceeding on his journey. +Among the objects at which he gave a hasty glance was the river, +covered from the bridge to the Holmes by one of those enormous +fleets of barges which were frequently to be seen at that time, +and it was from the newly tarred keels of this fleet of barges +that came the oily exudation which Carlyle, in his ignorance of +the physical sciences and his contempt for them, believed to +arise from a greasy river-bottom. And to this mistake the +world is indebted for this description of the Ouse, which has +been slavishly followed by all subsequent writers on +Cromwell. This is what makes strangers, walking along the +tow-path of Hemingford meadow, express so much surprise when, +instead of seeing the oily scum they expected, they see a broad +mirror as clear as glass, whose iridescence is caused by the +reflection of the clouds overhead and by the gold and white water +lilies on the surface of the stream.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>If the beauty of the Ouse inspired Mr. Norris to praise it so +eloquently in prose, we need not wonder at the pictorial +fascination of what Rossetti styled in a letter to a friend +‘Watts’s magnificent star sonnet’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>The mirrored stars lit all the bulrush spears,<br +/> +And all the flags and broad-leaved lily-isles;<br /> +<a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>The +ripples shook the stars to golden smiles,<br /> +Then smoothed them back to happy golden spheres.<br /> +We rowed—we sang; her voice seemed in mine ears<br /> +An angel’s, yet with woman’s dearer wiles;<br /> +But shadows fell from gathering cloudy piles<br /> +And ripples shook the stars to fiery tears.</p> +<p>What shaped those shadows like another boat<br /> +Where Rhona sat and he Love made a liar?<br /> +There, where the Scollard sank, I saw it float,<br /> +While ripples shook the stars to symbols dire;<br /> +We wept—we kissed—while starry fingers wrote,<br /> +And ripples shook the stars to a snake of fire.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>According to Mr. Sharp, Rossetti pronounced this sonnet to be +the finest of all the versions of the Doppelganger idea, and for +many years he seriously purposed to render it in art. It is +easy to understand why Rossetti never carried out his intention, +for the pictorial magic of the sonnet is so powerful that even +the greatest of all romantic painters could hardly have rendered +it on canvas. Poetry can suggest to the imagination deeper +mysteries than the subtlest romantic painting.</p> +<p>No sonnet has been more frequently localized—erroneously +localized than this. It is often supposed to depict the +Thames above Kew, but Mr. Norris says that ‘every one +familiar with Hemingford Meadow will see that it describes the +Ouse backwater near Porto Bello, where the author as a young man +was constantly seen on summer evenings listening from a canoe to +the blackcaps and nightingales of the Thicket.’</p> +<p>That excellent critic, Mr. Earl Hodgson, the editor of Dr. +Gordon Hake’s ‘New Day,’ seems to think that +the ‘lily-isles’ are on the Thames at Kelmscott, +while other writers have frequently localized these +‘lily-isles’ <a name="page31"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 31</span>on the Avon at Stratford. But, +no doubt, Mr. Norris is right in placing them on the Ouse.</p> +<p>This, however, gives me a good opportunity of saying a few +words about Mr. Watts-Dunton’s love of the Avon. The +sacred old town of Stratford-on-Avon has always been a favourite +haunt of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s. No poet of our time has +shown a greater love of our English rivers, but he seems to love +the Avon even more passionately than the Ouse. He cannot +describe the soft sands of Petit Bot Bay in Guernsey without +bringing in an allusion to ‘Avon’s sacred +silt.’ It was at Stratford-on-Avon that he wrote +several of his poems, notably the two sonnets which appeared +first in the ‘Athenæum,’ and afterwards in the +little volume, ‘Jubilee Greetings at Spithead to the Men of +Greater Britain.’ They are entitled ‘The Breath +of Avon: To English-speaking Pilgrims on Shakspeare’s +Birthday’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Whate’er of woe the Dark may hide in womb<br +/> +For England, mother of kings of battle and song—<br /> +Rapine, or racial hate’s mysterious wrong,<br /> +Blizzard of Chance, or fiery dart of Doom—<br /> +Let breath of Avon, rich of meadow-bloom,<br /> +Bind her to that great daughter sever’d long—<br /> +To near and far-off children young and strong—<br /> +With fetters woven of Avon’s flower perfume.<br /> +Welcome, ye English-speaking pilgrims, ye<br /> +Whose hands around the world are join’d by him,<br /> +Who make his speech the language of the sea,<br /> +Till winds of Ocean waft from rim to rim<br /> +The Breath of Avon: let this great day be<br /> +A Feast of Race no power shall ever dim.</p> +<p>From where the steeds of Earth’s twin oceans toss<br /> +Their manes along Columbia’s chariot-way;<br /> +From where Australia’s long blue billows play;<br /> +<a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>From where +the morn, quenching the Southern Cross,<br /> +Startling the frigate-bird and albatross<br /> +Asleep in air, breaks over Table Bay—<br /> +Come hither, pilgrims, where these rushes sway<br /> +’Tween grassy banks of Avon soft as moss!<br /> +For, if ye found the breath of Ocean sweet,<br /> +Sweeter is Avon’s earthy, flowery smell,<br /> +Distill’d from roots that feel the coming spell<br /> +Of May, who bids all flowers that lov’d him meet<br /> +In meadows that, remembering Shakspeare’s feet,<br /> +Hold still a dream of music where they fell.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was during a visit to Stratford-on-Avon in 1880 that Mr. +Watts-Dunton wrote the cantata, ‘Christmas at the +Mermaid,’ a poem in which breathes the very atmosphere of +Shakespeare’s town. There are no poetical +descriptions of the Avon that can stand for a moment beside the +descriptions in this poem, which I shall discuss later.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p32b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"‘The Thicket,’ St. Ives. (From a Water Colour by +Fraser at ‘The Pines.’)" +title= +"‘The Thicket,’ St. Ives. (From a Water Colour by +Fraser at ‘The Pines.’)" +src="images/p32s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>A typical meadow of Cowslip Country, or, as it is sometimes +called, ‘The Green Country,’ is Hemingford Meadow, +adjoining St. Ives. It is a level tract of land on the +banks of the Ouse, consisting of deposits of alluvium from the +overflowings of the river. In summer it is clothed with gay +flowers, and in winter, during floods and frosts, it is used as a +skating-ground, for St. Ives, being on the border of the Fens, is +a famous skating centre. On the opposite side of the meadow +is The Thicket, of which I am able to give a lovely +picture. This, no doubt, is the scene described in one of +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s birthday addresses to +Tennyson:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Another birthday breaks: he is with us still.<br +/> +There through the branches of the glittering trees<br /> +The birthday sun gilds grass and flower: the breeze<br /> +Sends forth methinks a thrill—a conscious thrill<br /> +<a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>That tells +yon meadows by the steaming rill—<br /> +Where, o’er the clover waiting for the bees,<br /> +The mist shines round the cattle to their knees—<br /> +‘Another birthday breaks: he is with us still!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The meadow leads to what the ‘oldest rustic +inhabitant’ calls the ‘First Hemingford,’ or +‘Hemingford Grey.’ The imagination of this same +‘oldest inhabitant’ used to go even beyond the First +Hemingford to the Second Hemingford, and then of course came +Ultima Thule! The meadow has quite a wide fame among those +students of nature who love English grasses in their endless +varieties. Owing to the richness of the soil, the luxuriant +growth of these beautiful grasses is said to be unparalleled in +England. For years the two Hemingfords have been the +favourite haunt of a group of landscape painters the chief of +whom are the brothers Fraser, two of whose water-colours are +reproduced in this book.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Nowhere can the bustling activity of haymaking be seen to more +advantage than in Cowslip Country, which extends right through +Huntingdonshire into East Anglia. It was not, however, near +St. Ives, but in another somewhat distant part of Cowslip Country +that the gypsies depicted in ‘The Coming of Love’ +took an active part in haymaking. But alas! in these times +of mechanical haymaking the lover of local customs can no longer +hope to see such a picture as that painted in the now famous +gypsy haymaking song which Mr. Watts-Dunton puts into the mouth +of Rhona Boswell. Moreover, the prosperous gryengroes +depicted by Borrow and by the author of ‘The Coming of +Love’ have now entirely vanished from the scene. The +present generation knows them not. But it is impossible for +the student of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poetry to ramble along +any part <a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>of Cowslip Country, with the fragrance of newly-made hay +in his nostrils, without recalling this chant, which I have the +kind permission of the editor of the ‘Saturday +Review’ (April 19, 1902) to quote:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Make the kas while the kem says, ‘Make +it!’ <a name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34" +class="citation">[34]</a><br /> +Shinin’ there on meadow an’ grove,<br /> +Sayin, ‘You Romany chies, you take it,<br /> +Toss it, tumble it, cock it, rake it,<br /> +Singin’ the ghyllie the while you shake it<br /> +To lennor and love!’</p> +<p>Hark, the sharpenin’ scythes that tingle!<br /> +See they come, the farmin’ ryes!<br /> +‘Leave the dell,’ they say, ‘an’ +pingle!<br /> +Never a gorgie, married or single,<br /> +Can toss the kas in dell or dingle<br /> +Like Romany chies.’<br /> +Make the kas while the kem says ‘Make it!’</p> +<p>Bees are a-buzzin’ in chaw an’ clover<br /> +Stealin’ the honey from sperrits o’ morn,<br /> +Shoshus leap in puv an’ cover,<br /> +Doves are a-cooin’ like lover to lover,<br /> +Larks are awake an’ a-warblin’ over<br /> +Their kairs in the corn.<br /> +Make the kas while the kem says ‘Make it!’</p> +<p>Smell the kas on the baval blowin’!<br /> +What is that the gorgies say?<br /> +Never a garden rose a-glowin’,<br /> +Never a meadow flower a-growin’,<br /> +Can match the smell from a Rington mowin’<br /> +Of new made hay.</p> +<p>All along the river reaches<br /> +‘Cheep, cheep, chee!’—from osier an’ +sedge;<br /> +‘Cuckoo, cuckoo!’ rings from the beeches;<br /> +Every chirikel’s song beseeches<br /> +Ryes to larn what lennor teaches<br /> +From copse an’ hedge.<br /> +Make the kas while the kem says ‘Make it!’</p> +<p><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>Lennor +sets ’em singin’ an’ pairin’,<br /> +Chirikels all in tree an’ grass,<br /> +Farmers say, ‘Them gals are darin’,<br /> +Sometimes dukkerin’, sometimes snarin’;<br /> +But see their forks at a quick kas-kairin’,’<br /> +Toss the kas!</p> +<p>Make the kas while the kem says, ‘Make it!’<br /> +Shinin’ there on meadow an’ grove,<br /> +Sayin’, ‘You Romany chies, you take it,<br /> +Toss it, tumble it, cock it, rake it,<br /> +Singin’ the ghyllie the while you shake it<br /> +To lennor and love!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Norris tells us that the old Saxon name of St. Ives was +Slepe, and that Oliver Cromwell is said to have resided as a +farmer for five years in Slepe Hall, which was pulled down in the +late forties. When Mr. Watts-Dunton’s friend, Madox +Brown, went down to St. Ives to paint the scenery for his famous +picture, ‘Oliver Cromwell at St. Ives,’ he could +present only an imaginary farm.</p> +<p>Perhaps my theory about the advantage of a story-teller being +born in a microcosm accounts for that faculty of improvizing +stories full of local colour and character which, according to +friends of D. G. Rossetti, would keep the poet-painter up half +the night, and which was dwelt upon by Mr. Hake in his account of +the origin of ‘Aylwin’ which I have already +given. I may give here an anecdote connected with Slepe +Hall which I have heard Mr. Watts-Dunton tell, and which would +certainly make a good nucleus for a short story. It is +connected with Slepe Hall, of which Mr. Clement Shorter, in some +reminiscences of his published some time ago, writes: “My +mother was born at St. Ives, in Huntingdonshire, and still owns +by inheritance some <a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>freehold cottages built on land once occupied by Slepe +Hall, where Oliver Cromwell is supposed to have farmed. At +Slepe Hall, a picturesque building, she went to school in +girlhood. She remembers Mr. Watts-Dunton, the author of +‘Aylwin,’ who was also born at St. Ives, as a pretty +little boy then unknown to fame.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p36b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Slepe Hall: Cromwell’s Supposed Residence at St. Ives. +(From an Oil Painting at ‘The Pines.’)" +title= +"Slepe Hall: Cromwell’s Supposed Residence at St. Ives. +(From an Oil Painting at ‘The Pines.’)" +src="images/p36s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>When the owners of Slepe Hall, the White family, pulled it +down, they sold the materials of the building and also the site +and grounds in building lots. It was then discovered that +the house in which Cromwell was said to have lived was built upon +the foundations of a much older house whose cellars remained +intact. This was, of course, a tremendous event in the +microcosm, and the place became a rendezvous of the schoolboys of +the neighbourhood, whose delight from morning to eve was to watch +the workmen in their task of demolition. In the early +stages of this work, when the upper stories were being +demolished, curiosity was centred on the great question as to +what secret chamber would be found, whence Oliver +Cromwell’s ghost, before he was driven into hiding by his +terror of the school girls, used to issue, to take his moonlit +walks about the grounds, and fish for roach in the old fish +ponds. But no such secret chamber could be found. +When at length the work had proceeded so far as the foundations, +the centre of curiosity was shifted: a treasure was supposed to +be hidden there; for, although, as a matter of fact, Cromwell was +born at Huntingdon and lived at St. Ives only five years, it was +not at Huntingdon, but at the little Nonconformist town of St. +Ives, that he was the idol: it was indeed the old story of every +hero of the world—</p> +<blockquote><p>Imposteur à la Mecque et prophète +à Mèdine.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Although in all probability Cromwell never lived <a +name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>at Slepe +Hall, but at the Green End Farm at the other end of the town, +there was a legend that, before the Ironsides started on a famous +expedition, Noll went back to St. Ives and concealed his own +plate, and the plate of all his rebel friends, in Slepe Hall +cellars. No treasure turned up, but what was found was a +collection of old bottles of wine which was at once christened +‘Cromwell’s wine’ by the local humourist of the +town, who was also one of its most prosperous inhabitants, and +who felt as much interest as the boys in the exploration. +The workmen, of course, at once began knocking off the +bottles’ necks and drinking the wine, and were soon in what +may be called a mellow condition; the humourist, being a +teetotaler, would not drink, but he insisted on the boys being +allowed to take away their share of it in order that they might +say in after days that they had drunk Oliver Cromwell’s +wine and perhaps imbibed some of the Cromwellian spirit and +pluck. Consequently the young urchins carried off a few +bottles and sat down in a ring under a tree called +‘Oliver’s Tree,’ and knocked off the tops of +the bottles and began to drink. The wine turned out to be +extremely sweet, thick and sticky, and appears to have been a +wine for which Cowslip Land has always been famous—elder +wine. Abstemious by temperament and by rearing as Mr. +Watts-Dunton was, he could not resist the temptation to drink +freely of Cromwell’s elder-wine; so freely, in fact, that +he has said, ‘I was never even excited by drink except +once, and that was when I came near to being drunk on Oliver +Cromwell’s elder-wine.’ The wine was probably +about a century old.</p> +<p>I should have stated that Mr. Watts-Dunton at the age of +eleven or twelve was sent to a school at Cambridge, <a +name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>where he +remained for a longer time than is usual. He received there +and afterwards at home a somewhat elaborate education, comprising +the physical sciences, particularly biology, and also art and +music. As has been said in the notice of him in +‘Poets and Poetry of the Century,’ he is one of the +few contemporary poets with a scientific knowledge of +music. Owing to his father’s passion for science, he +was specially educated as a naturalist, and this accounts for the +innumerable allusions to natural science in his writings, and for +his many expressions of a passionate interest in the lower +animals.</p> +<p>Upon the subject of “the great human fallacy expressed +in the phrase, ‘the dumb animals,’” Mr. +Watts-Dunton has written much, and he has often been eloquent +about ‘those who have seen through the fallacy, such as St. +Francis of Assisi, Cowper, Burns, Coleridge, and Bisset, the +wonderful animal-trainer of Perth of the last century, who, if we +are to believe the accounts of him, taught a turtle in six months +to fetch and carry like a dog; and having chalked the floor and +blackened its claws, could direct it to trace out any given name +in the company.’</p> +<blockquote><p>“Of course,” he says, “the +‘lower animals’ are no more dumb than we are. +With them, as with us, there is the same yearning to escape from +isolation—to get as close as may be to some other conscious +thing—which is a great factor of progress. With them, +as with us, each individual tries to warm itself by communication +with the others around it by arbitrary signs; with them, as with +us, countless accidents through countless years have contributed +to determine what these signs and sounds shall be. Those +among us who have gone at all underneath conventional <a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>thought and +conventional expression—those who have penetrated +underneath conventional feeling—know that neither thought +nor emotion can really be expressed at all. The voice +cannot do it, as we see by comparing one language with +another. Wordsworth calls language the incarnation of +thought. But the mere fact of there being such a Babel of +different tongues disproves this. If there were but one +universal language, such as speculators dream of, the idea might, +at least, be not superficially absurd. Soul cannot +communicate with soul save by signs made by the body; and when +you can once establish a Lingua Franca between yourself and a +‘lower animal,’ interchange of feeling and even of +thought is as easy with them as it is with men. Nay, with +some temperaments and in some moods, the communication is far, +far closer. ‘When I am assailed with heavy +tribulation,’ said Luther, ‘I rush out among my pigs +rather than remain alone by myself.’ And there is no +creature that does not at some points sympathize with man. +People have laughed at Erskine because every evening after dinner +he used to have placed upon the table a vessel full of his pet +leeches, upon which he used to lavish his endearments. +Neither I nor my companion had a pet passion for leeches. +Erskine probably knew leeches better than we, for, as the Arabian +proverb says, mankind hate only the thing of which they know +nothing. Like most dog lovers, we had no special love for +cats, but that was clearly from lack of knowledge. ‘I +wish women would purr when they are pleased,’ said Horne +Tooke to Rogers once.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>Chapter III<br /> +THE CRITIC IN THE BUD</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> of my special weaknesses is my +delight in forgotten records of the nooks of old England and +‘ould Ireland’; I have a propensity for +‘dawdling and dandering’ among them whenever the +occasion arises, and I am yielding to it here.</p> +<p>Besides the interesting history of St. Ives from which I have +been compelled to quote so liberally, Mr. Norris has written a +series of brochures upon the surrounding villages. One of +these, called ‘St. Ives and the Printing Press,’ has +greatly interested me, for it reveals the wealth of the material +for topographical literature which in the rural districts lies +ready for the picking up. I am tempted to quote from this, +for it shows how strong since Cromwell’s time the temper +which produced Cromwell has remained. During the time when +at Cambridge George Dyer and his associates, William Frend, +Fellow of Jesus, and John Hammond of Fenstanton, Fellow of +Queen’s, revolted against the discipline and the doctrine +of the Church of England, St. Ives was the very place where the +Cambridge revolutionists had their books printed. The house +whence issued these fulminations was the ‘Old House’ +in Crown Street, now pulled down, which for a time belonged to +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s father, having remained during all this +time a printing office. Mr. <a name="page41"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 41</span>Norris gives a very picturesque +description of this old printing office at the top of the house, +with its pointed roof, ‘king posts’ and panelling, +reminding one of the pictures of the ancient German printing +offices. Mr. Norris also tells us that it was at the house +adjoining this, the ‘Crown Inn,’ that William Penn +died in 1718, having ridden thither from Huntingdon to hear the +lawsuit between himself and the St. Ives churchwardens. +According to Mr. Norris, the fountain-head of the Cambridge +revolt was the John Hammond above alluded to, who was a friend of +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s father when the latter was quite a young +man under articles for a solicitor. A curious character +must have been this long-forgotten rebel, to whom Dyer addressed +an ode, with an enormous tail of learned notes showing the +eccentric pedantry which was such an infinite source of amusement +to Lamb, and inspired some of Elia’s most delightful +touches of humour. This poem of Dyer’s opens +thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Though much I love th’ Æolian lyre,<br +/> + Whose varying sounds beguil’d my youthful +day,<br /> + And still, as fancy guides, I love to stray<br /> +In fabled groves, among th’ Aonian choir:<br /> +Yet more on native fields, thro’ milder skies,<br /> + Nature’s mysterious harmonies delight:<br /> +There rests my heart; for let the sun but rise,<br /> + What is the moon’s pale orb that cheer’d +the lonesome night?<br /> +I cannot leave thee, classic ground,<br /> + Nor bid your labyrinths of song adieu;<br /> + Yet scenes to me more dear arise to view:<br /> +And my ear drinks in notes of clearer sound.<br /> +No purple Venus round my Hammond’s bow’r,<br /> + No blue-ey’d graces, wanton mirth diffuse,<br +/> +The king of gods here rains no golden show’r,<br /> + Nor have these lips e’er sipt Castilian +dews.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>At the +‘Old House’ in Crown Street there used to be held in +Dyer’s time, if not earlier, the meetings of the St. Ives +old Union Book Club, and at this very Book Club, Walter Theodore +Watts first delivered himself of his boyish ideas about science, +literature, and things in general. Filled with juvenile +emphasis as it is, I mean to give here nearly in full that boyish +utterance. It interests me much, because I seem to see in +it adumbrations of many interesting extracts from his works with +which I hope to enrich these pages. I cannot let slip the +opportunity of taking advantage of a lucky accident—the +accident that a member of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s family was +able to furnish me with an old yellow-brown newspaper cutting in +which the speech is reported. In 1854, ‘W. Theodore +Watts,’ as he is described in the cutting, although too +young to be himself a member—if he was not still at school +at Cambridge, he had just left it—on account of his +father’s great local reputation as a man of learning, was +invited to the dinner, and called upon to respond to the toast, +‘Science.’ In the ‘Cambridge +Chronicle’ of that date the proceedings of the dinner were +reported, and great prominence was given to the speech of the +precocious boy, a speech delivered, as is evident by the +allusions to persons present, without a single note, and largely +improvized. The subject which he discussed was ‘The +Influence of Science upon Modern Civilization’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It is one of the many beautiful remarks of +the great philosophical lawyer, Lord Bacon, that knowledge +resembles a tree, which runs straight for some time, and then +parts itself into branches. Now, of all the branches of the +tree of knowledge, in my opinion, the most hopeful one for +humanity is physical science—that branch <a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>of the tree +which, before the time of the great lawyer, had scarcely begun to +bud, and which he, above all men, helped to bring to its present +wondrous state of development. I am aware that the +assertion that Lord Bacon is the Father of Physical Science will +be considered by many of you as rather heterodox, and fitting to +come from a person young and inexperienced as myself. It is +heterodox; it clashes, for instance, with the venerable +superstition of ‘the wisdom of the ancients’—a +superstition, by the bye, as old in our literature as my friend +Mr. Wright’s old friend Chaucer, whom we have this moment +been talking about, and who, I remember, has this sarcastic verse +to the point:—</p> +<p>For out of the olde fieldes, as men saith,<br /> +Cometh all this new corn from yeare to yeare,<br /> +And out of olde bookes; in good faith,<br /> +Cometh all this new science that men lere.</p> +<p>But, gentlemen, if by the wisdom of the ancients we mean their +wisdom in matters of Physical Science (as some do), I contend +that we simply abuse terms; and that the phrase, whether applied +to the ancients more properly, or to our own English ancestors, +is a fallacy. It is the error of applying qualities to +communities of men which belong only to individuals. There +can be no doubt that, of contemporary individuals, the oldest of +them has had the greatest experience, and is therefore, or ought +therefore, to be the wisest; but with generations of men, surely +the reverse of this must be the fact. As Sydney Smith says +in his own inimitably droll way, ‘Those who came first (our +ancestors), are the young people, and have the least +experience. Our ancestors up to the Conquest were children +in arms—chubby boys in the time of Edward the First; +striplings under Elizabeth; <a name="page44"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 44</span>men in the reign of Queen Anne; and +we only are the white-bearded, silver-headed ancients who have +treasured up, and are prepared to profit by, all the experience +which human life can supply.</p> +<p>And, gentlemen, I think the wit was right, both as regards our +own English ancestors, and the nations of antiquity. What, +for instance, was the much-vaunted Astronomy of the ancient +Chaldeans—what but the wildest Astrology? What +schoolboy has not chuckled over the ingenious old +Herodotus’s description of the sun being blown out of the +heavens? Or again, at old Plutarch’s veracious story +of the hedgehogs and the grapes? Nay, there are absurdities +enough in such great philosophers as Pliny, Plato, and Aristotle, +to convince us that the ancients were profoundly ignorant in most +matters appertaining to the Physical Sciences.</p> +<p>Gentlemen, I would be the last one in the room to disparage +the ancients: my admiration of them amounts simply to +reverence. But theirs was essentially the day of poetry and +imagination; our day—though there are still poets among us, +as Alexander Smith has been proving to us lately—is, as +essentially, the day of Science. I might, if I had time, +dwell upon another point here—the constitution of the Greek +mind (for it is upon Greece I am now especially looking as the +soul of antiquity). Was that scientific? Surely +not.</p> +<p>The predominant intuition of the Greek mind, as you well know, +was beauty, sensuous beauty. This prevailing passion for +the beautiful exhibits itself in everything they did, and in +everything they said: it breathes in their poetry, in their +oratory, in their drama, in their architecture, and above all in +their marvellous sculpture. The productions of the Greek +intellect are pure temples <a name="page45"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 45</span>of the beautiful, and, as such, will +never fade and decay, for</p> +<p style="text-align: center">A thing of beauty is a joy for +ever.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, I may as well confess at once that I believe +that Science could never have found a home in the Europe of +antiquity. Athens was too imaginative and poetical. +Sparta was too warlike and barbarous. Rome was too sensual +and gross. It had to wait for the steady Teutonic +mind—the plodding brains of modern England and modern +Germany. That Homer is the father of poetry—that +Æschylus is a wonder of sublimity—that Sophocles and +Euripides are profound masters of human passion and human +pathos—that Aristophanes is an exhaustless fountain of +sparkling wit and richest humour—no one in this room, or +out of it, is more willing to admit than I am. But is that +to blind us to the fact, gentlemen, that Humboldt and Murchison +and Lyell are greater natural philosophers than Lucretius or +Aristotle?</p> +<p>The Athenian philosopher, Socrates, believed that he was +accompanied through life by a spiritual good genius and evil +genius. Every right action he did, and every right thought +that entered his mind, he attributed to the influence of his good +Genius; while every bad thought and action he attributed to his +evil Genius. And this was not the mere poetic figment of a +poetic brain: it was a living and breathing faith with him. +He believed it in his childhood, in his youth, in his manhood, +and he believed it on his death-bed, when the deadly hemlock was +winding its fold, like the fatal serpent of Laocoon, around his +giant brain. Well, gentlemen, don’t let us laugh at +this idea of the grand old Athenian; for it is, after all, a +beautiful one, and typical of many great truths. And I have +often thought that the idea might be applied to a greater man +than Socrates. I <a name="page46"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 46</span>mean the great +man—mankind. He, too, has his good genius and his +evil genius. The former we will designate science, the +latter we will call superstition. For ages upon ages, +superstition has had the sway over him—that evil genius, +who blotted out the lamp of truth that God had implanted within +his breast, and substituted all manner of blinding +errors—errors which have made him play</p> +<p>Such fantastic tricks before high heaven<br /> +As make the angels weep.</p> +<p>This evil genius it was who made him look upon the fair face +of creation, not as a book in which God may be read, as St. Paul +tells us, but as a book full of frightful and horrid +mysteries. In a word, the great Man who ought to have been +only a little lower than the angels, has been made, by +superstition, only a little above the fiends.</p> +<p>But, at last, God has permitted man’s long, long +experience to be followed by wisdom; and we have thrown off the +yoke of this ancient enemy, and clasped the hands of +Science—Science, that good genius who makes matter the +obedient slave of mind; who imprisons the ethereal lightning and +makes it the messenger of commerce; who reigns king of the raging +sea and winds; who compresses the life of Methusaleh into seventy +years; who unlocks the casket of the human frame, and ranges +through its most secret chambers, until at last nothing, save the +mysterious germ of life itself, shall be hidden; who maps out all +the nations of the earth; showing how the sable Ethiopian, the +dusky Polynesian, the besotted Mongolian, the intellectual +European, are but differently developed exemplars of the same +type of manhood, and warning man that he is still his +‘brother’s keeper’ now as in the primeval days +of Cain and Abel.</p> +<p><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>The +good genius, Science, it is who bears us on his dædal wings +up into the starry night, there where ‘God’s name is +writ in worlds,’ and discourses to us of the laws which +bind the planets revolving around their planetary suns, and those +suns again circling for ever around the great central +sun—‘The Great White Throne of God!’</p> +<p>The good genius, Science, it is who takes us back through the +long vista of years, and shows us this world of ours, this +beautiful world which the wisest and the best of us are so +unwilling to leave, first, as a vast drop of liquid lava-fire, +starting on that mysterious course which is to end only with time +itself; then, as a dark humid mass, ‘without form and +void,’ where earth, sea, and sky, are mingled in +unutterable confusion; then, after countless, countless ages, +having grown to something like the thing of beauty the Creator +had intended, bringing forth the first embryonic germs of +vegetable life, to be succeeded, in due time, by gigantic trees +and towering ferns, compared with which the forest monarchs of +our day are veritable dwarfs; then, slowly, gradually, developing +the still greater wonder of animal life, from the primitive, +half-vegetable, half-conscious forms, till such mighty creatures +as the Megatherium, the Saurian, the Mammoth, the Iguanodon, roam +about the luxuriant forests, and bellow in chaotic caves, and +wallow in the teeming seas, and circle in the humid atmosphere, +making the earth rock and tremble beneath their monstrous +movements; then, last of all, the wonder of wonders, the climax +towards which the whole had been tending, the noblest and the +basest work of God—the creation of the thinking, reasoning, +sinning animal, Man.</p> +<p>And thus, gentlemen, will this good genius still go on, +instructing and improving, and purifying the human <a +name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>mind, and +aiding in the grand work of developing the divinity within +it. I know, indeed, that it is a favourite argument of some +people that modern civilization will decline and vanish, +‘like the civilizations of old.’ But I venture +to deny it in toto. From a human point of view, it is +utterly impossible. And without going into the question +(for I see the time is running on) as to whether ancient +civilization really has passed away, or whether the old germ did +not rather spring into new life after the dark ages, and is now +bearing fruit, ten thousand times more glorious than it ever did +of old; without arguing this point, I contend that all +comparisons between ancient civilization and modern must of +necessity be futile and fallacious. And for this reason, +that independently of the civilizing effects of Christianity, +Science has knit the modern nations into one: whereas each nation +of antiquity had to work out its own problems of social and +political life, and come to its own conclusions. So +isolated, indeed, was one nation from another, that nations were +in some instances ignorant of each other’s existence. +A new idea, or invention, born at Nineveh, was for Assyria alone; +at Athens, for Greece alone; at Rome, for Italy alone. +There was no science then to ‘put a girdle round about the +earth’ (as Puck says) ‘in forty minutes.’ +But now, a new idea brought to light in modern London, or Paris, +or New York, is for the whole world; it is wafted on the wings of +science around the whole habitable globe—from Ireland to +New Zealand, from India to Peru. I am not going to say, +gentlemen, that Britannia must always be the ruler of the +waves. The day may come that will see her sink to a +second-rate, a third-rate, or a fourth-rate power in +Europe. In spite of all we have been saying this evening, +the day may come that will see Russia the dominant power in +Europe. The <a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>day may come that will see Sydney and Melbourne the +fountain heads of refinement and learning. It may have been +ordained in Heaven at the first that each race upon the globe +shall be in its turn the dominant race—that the negro race +shall one day lord it over the Caucasian, as the Caucasian race +is now lording it over the negro. Why not? It would +be only equity. But I am not talking of races; I am not +talking of nationalities. I speak again of the great man, +Mankind—the one indivisible man that Science is making +him. He will never retrograde, because ‘matter and +mind comprise the universe,’ and matter must entirely sink +beneath the weight of mind—because good must one day +conquer ill, or why was the world made? Henceforth his road +is onward—onward. Science has helped to give him such +a start that nothing shall hold him back—nothing can hold +him back—save a fiat, a direct fiat from the throne of +Almighty God.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But I am wandering from the subject of the ‘Old +House’ in Crown Street and its connection with +printing. The last important book that was ever printed +there was a very remarkable one. It was the famous essay on +Pantheism by Mr. Watts-Dunton’s friend, the Rev. John Hunt, +D.D., at that time a curate of the St. Ives Church—a book +that was the result of an enormous amount of learning, research, +and original thought, a book, moreover, which has had a great +effect upon modern thought. It has passed through several +editions since it was printed at St. Ives in 1866.</p> +<h2><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>Chapter IV<br /> +CHARACTERS IN THE MICROCOSM</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Craigie</span> has recently protested +against the metropolitan fable that London enjoys a monopoly of +culture, and has reminded us that in the provinces may be found a +great part of the intellectual energy of the nation. It +would be hard to find a more intellectual environment than that +in which Theodore Watts grew up. Indeed, his early life may +be compared to that of John Stuart Mill, although he escaped the +hardening and narrowing influences which marred the austere +educational system of the Mill family. Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s father was in many respects a very +remarkable man. ‘He was,’ says the famous +gypsologist, F. H. Groome, in Chambers’s +Encyclopædia, ‘a naturalist intimately connected with +Murchison, Lyell, and other geologists, a pre-Darwinian +evolutionist of considerable mark in the scientific world of +London, and the Gilbert White of the Ouse valley.’ +There is, as the ‘Times’ said in its review of +‘Aylwin,’ so much of manifest Wahrheit mingled with +the Dichtung of the story, that it is not surprising that +attempts have often been made to identify all the +characters. Many of these guesses have been wrong; and +indeed, the only writer who has spoken with authority seems to be +Mr. Hake, who, in two papers in ‘Notes and Queries’ +identified many of the characters. <a +name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>Until he +wrote on the subject, it was generally assumed that the spiritual +protagonist from whom springs the entire action of the story, +Philip Aylwin, was Mr. Watts-Dunton’s father. Mr. +Hake, however, tells us that this is not so. Philip Aylwin +is a portrait of the author’s uncle, an extraordinary man +of whom I shall have something to say later. I feel myself +fortunate in having discovered an admirable account of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s father in Mr. Norris’s ‘History +of St. Ives’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“For many years one of the most interesting +of St. Ivian figures was the late Mr. J. K. Watts, who was born +at St. Ives in 1808, though his family on both sides came from +Hemingford Grey and Hemingford Abbots. According to the +following extracts from ‘The Cambridge Chronicle and +University Journal’ of August 15, 1884, Mr. Watts died +quite suddenly on August 7 of that year: ‘We record with +much regret the sudden death at Over of our townsman, Mr. J. K. +Watts, who died after an hour’s illness of heart disease at +Berry House, whither he had been taken after the seizure. +Dr. J. Ellis, of Swavesey, was called in, but without +avail. At the inquest the post-mortem examination disclosed +that the cause of death was a long-standing fatty degeneration of +the heart, which had, on several occasions, resulted in +syncope. Deceased had been driven to Willingham and back to +Over upon a matter of business with Mr. Hawkes, and the extreme +heat of the weather seems to have acted as the proximate cause of +death.</p> +<p>Mr. Watts had practised in St. Ives from 1840, and was one of +the oldest solicitors in the county. He had also devoted +much time and study to scientific subjects, and was, in his +earlier life, a well-known figure in the <a +name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>scientific +circles of London. He was for years connected with Section +E of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, and +elected on the Committee. He read papers on geology and +cognate subjects before that Association and other Societies +during the time that Murchison and Lyell were the apostles of +geology. Afterwards he made a special study of luminous +meteors, and in the Association’s reports upon this subject +some of the most interesting observations of luminous meteors are +those recorded by Mr. Watts. He was one of the earliest +Fellows of the Geographical Society, and one of the Founders of +the Anthropological Society.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watts never collected his papers and essays, but up to the +last moment of his life he gave attention to those subjects to +which he had devoted himself, as may be seen by referring to the +‘Antiquary’ for 1883 and 1884, where will be found +two articles on Cambridgeshire Antiquities, one of which did not +get into type till several months after his death. It was, +however, not by Archæology, but by his geological and +geographical writings that he made his reputation. And it +was these which brought him into contact with Murchison, +Livingstone, Lyell, Whewell, and Darwin, and also with the +geographers, some of whom, such as Du Chaillu, Findlay, Dr. +Norton Shaw, visited him at the Red House on the Market Hill, now +occupied by Mr. Matton. In the sketches of the life of Dr. +Latham it is mentioned that the famous ethnologist was a frequent +visitor to Mr. Watts at St. Ives. Since his death there +have been frequent references to him as a man of +‘encyclopædic general knowledge.’</p> +<p>He was of an exceedingly retiring disposition, and few men in +St. Ives have been more liked or more generally respected. +His great delight seemed to be roaming <a name="page53"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 53</span>about in meadows and lanes observing +the changes of the vegetation and the bird and insect life in +which our neighbourhood is as rich as Selborne itself. On +such occasions the present writer has often met him and had many +interesting conversations with him upon subjects connected with +natural science.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With regard to the family of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s mother, +the Duntons, although in the seventeenth century a branch of the +family lived in Huntingdonshire, some of them being clergymen +there for several generations, they are entirely East Anglian; +and some very romantic chapters in the history of the family have +been touched upon by Dr. Jessopp in his charming essay, +‘Ups and Downs of an Old Nunnery.’ This essay +was based upon a paper, communicated by Miss Mary Bateson to the +Norfolk and Norwich Archæological Society, and treating of +the Register of Crab House Nunnery. In 1896 Walter Theodore +Watts added his mother’s to his father’s name, by a +deed in Chancery.</p> +<p>I could not give a more pregnant instance of the difference in +temperament between a father and a son than by repeating a story +about Mr. Watts-Dunton which Rossetti (who was rich in anecdotes +of his friend) used to tell. When the future poet and +critic was a boy in jackets pursuing his studies at the Cambridge +school, he found in the school library a copy of Wells’s +‘Stories after Nature,’ and read them with great +avidity. Shortly afterwards, when he had left school and +was reading all sorts of things, and also cultivating on the sly +a small family of Gryengroes encamped in the neighbourhood, he +was amazed to find, in a number of the ‘Illuminated +Magazine,’ a periodical which his father, on account of +Douglas Jerrold, had taken in from the <a name="page54"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 54</span>first, one of the ‘Stories +after Nature’ reprinted with an illustration by the +designer and engraver Linton. He said to his father, +‘Why, I have read this story before!’ +‘That is quite impossible,’ said his father, +‘quite impossible that you should have before read a new +story in a new number of a magazine.’ ‘I have +read it before; I know all about it,’ said the boy. +‘As I do not think you untruthful,’ said the father, +‘I think I can explain your hallucination about this +matter.’ ‘Do, father,’ said the +son. ‘Well,’ said the father, ‘I do not +know whether or not you are a poet. But I do know that you +are a dreamer of dreams. You have told me before +extraordinary stories to the effect that when you see a landscape +that is new to you, it seems to you that you have seen it +before.’ ‘Yes, father, that often +occurs.’ ‘Well, the reason for that is this, as +you will understand when you come to know a little more about +physiology. The brain is divided into two hemispheres, +exactly answering to each other, and they act so simultaneously +that they work like one brain; but it often happens that when +dreamers like you see things or read things, one of the +hemispheres has lapsed into a kind of drowsiness, and the other +one sees the object for itself; but in a second or two the lazy +hemisphere wakes up and thinks it has seen the picture +before.’ The explanation seemed convincing, and yet +it could not convince the boy.</p> +<p>The very next month the magazine gave another of the stories, +and the father said, ‘Well, Walter, have you read this +before?’ ‘Yes,’ said the boy falteringly, +‘unless, of course, it is all done by the double brain, +father.’ And so it went on from month to month. +When the boy had grown into a man and came to meet Rossetti, one +of the very first of the literary subjects <a +name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>discussed +between them was that of Charles Wells’s ‘Joseph and +His Brethren’ and ‘Stories after Nature.’ +Rossetti was agreeably surprised that although his new friend +knew nothing of ‘Joseph and His Brethren,’ he was +very familiar with the ‘Stories after Nature.’ +‘Well,’ said Mr. Watts-Dunton, ‘they appeared +in the “Illuminated Magazine.”’ +‘Who should have thought,’ said Rossetti, ‘that +the “Illuminated Magazine” in its moribund days, when +Linton took it up, should have got down to St. Ives. Its +circulation, I think, was only a few hundreds. Among +Linton’s manœuvres for keeping the magazine alive was +to reprint and illustrate Charles Wells’s “Stories +after Nature” without telling the public that they had +previously appeared in book form.’ ‘They did +then appear in book form first?’ said Mr. +Watts-Dunton. ‘Yes, but there can’t have been +over a hundred or two sold,’ said Rossetti. ‘I +discovered it at the British Museum.’ ‘I read +it at Cambridge in my school library,’ said Mr. +Watts-Dunton. It was the startled look on Rossetti’s +face which caused Mr. Watts-Dunton to tell him the story about +his father and the ‘Illuminated Magazine.’</p> +<p>It was a necessity that a boy so reared should feel the +impulse to express himself in literature rather early. But +it will be new to many, and especially to the editor of the +‘Athenæum,’ that as a mere child he contributed +to its pages. When he was a boy he read the +‘Athenæum,’ which his father took in +regularly. One day he caught a correspondent of the +‘Athenæum’—no less a person than John P. +Collier—tripping on a point of Shakespearean scholarship, +being able to do so by chance. He had stumbled on the +matter in question while reading one of his father’s +books. He wrote to the editor in his childish round hand, +stigmatizing the blunder <a name="page56"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 56</span>with youthful scorn. In due +time the correction was noted in the Literary Gossip of the +journal. Soon after, his father had occasion to consult the +book, and finding a pencil mark opposite the passage, he said, +‘Walter, have you been marking this book?’ +‘Yes, father.’ ‘But you know I +object?’ ‘Yes, father, but I was interested in +the point.’ ‘Why,’ said his father, +‘somebody has been writing about this very passage to the +“Athenæum.”’ ‘Yes, +father,’ replied the boy, red and ungrammatical with proud +confusion, ‘it was me.’ ‘You!’ +cried his astonished father, ‘you!’ And thus +the matter was explained. Mr. Watts-Dunton confesses that +he was never tired of thumbing that, his first contribution to +the ‘Athenæum.’</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Whatever may have been the influence of his father upon Mr. +Watts-Dunton, it was not, I think, nearly so great as that of his +uncle, James Orlando Watts. His father may have made him +scientific: his uncle seems to have made him philosophical with a +dash of mysticism. As I have already pointed out, Mr. Hake +has identified this uncle as the prototype of Philip Aylwin, the +father of the hero. The importance of this character in +‘Aylwin’ is shown by the fact that, if we analyze the +story, we find that the character of Philip is its motive +power. After his death, everything that occurs is brought +about by his doctrines and his dreams, his fantasies and his +whims. This effect of making a man dominate from his grave +the entire course of the life of his descendants seems to be +unique in imaginative literature; and yet, although the fingers +of some critics (notably Mr. Coulson Kernahan) burn close to the +subject, there they leave it. What Mr. Watts-Dunton calls +‘the tragic mischief’ of the drama is not brought +about by any villain, but by the <a name="page57"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 57</span>vagaries and mystical speculations of +a dead man, the author of ‘The Veiled Queen.’ +There were few things in which James Orlando Watts did not take +an interest. He was a deep student of the drama, Greek, +English, Spanish, and German. And it is a singular fact +that this dreamy man was a lover of the acted drama. One of +his stories in connection with acting is this. A party of +strolling players who went to St. Ives got permission to act for +a period in a vast stone-built barn, called Priory Barn, and +sometimes Cromwell’s Barn. Mr. J. O. Watts went to +see them, and on returning home after the performance said, +‘I have seen a little actor who is a real genius. He +reminds me of what I have read about Edmund Kean’s +acting. I shall go and see him every night. And he +went. The actor’s name was Robson. When, +afterwards, Mr. Watts went to reside in London, he learnt that an +actor named Robson was acting in one of the second-rate theatres +called the Grecian Saloon. He went to the theatre and +found, as he expected, that it was the same actor who had so +impressed him down at St. Ives. From that time he followed +Robson to whatsoever theatre in London he went, and afterward +became a well-known figure among the playgoers of the +Olympic. He always contended that Robson was the only +histrionic genius of his time. Mr. Hake seems to have known +James Orlando Watts only after he had left St. Ives to live in +London:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“He was,” says Mr. Hake, “a man +of extraordinary learning in the academic sense of the word, and +he possessed still more extraordinary general knowledge. He +lived for many years the strangest kind of hermit life, +surrounded by his books and old manuscripts. His two great +passions were philology and <a name="page58"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 58</span>occultism, but he also took great +interest in rubbings from brass monuments. He knew more, I +think, of those strange writers discussed in Vaughan’s +‘Hours with the Mystics’ than any other +person—including perhaps, Vaughan himself; but he managed +to combine with his love of mysticism a deep passion for the +physical sciences, especially astronomy. He seemed to be +learning languages up to almost the last year of his life. +His method of learning languages was the opposite of that of +George Borrow—that is to say, he made great use of +grammars; and when he died, it is said that from four to five +hundred treatises on grammar were found among his books. He +used to express great contempt for Borrow’s method of +learning languages from dictionaries only. I do not think +that any one connected with literature—with the sole +exception of Mr. Swinburne, my father, and Dr. R. G. +Latham—knew so much of him as I did. His personal +appearance was exactly like that of Philip Aylwin, as described +in the novel. Although he never wrote poetry, he +translated, I believe, a good deal from the Spanish and +Portuguese poets. I remember that he was an extraordinary +admirer of Shelley. His knowledge of Shakespeare and the +Elizabethan dramatists was a link between him and Mr. +Swinburne.</p> +<p>At a time when I was a busy reader at the British Museum +reading room, I used frequently to see him, and he never seemed +to know anyone among the readers except myself, and whenever he +spoke to me it was always in a hushed whisper, lest he should +disturb the other readers, which in his eyes would have been a +heinous offence. For very many years he had been extremely +well known to the second-hand booksellers, for he was a constant +purchaser of their wares. He was a great pedestrian, and, +being very much attached to the north <a name="page59"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 59</span>of London, would take long, slow +tramps ten miles out in the direction of Highgate, Wood Green, +etc. I have a very distinct recollection of calling upon +him in Myddelton Square at the time when I was living close to +him in Percy Circus. Books were piled up from floor to +ceiling, apparently in great confusion; but he seemed to remember +where to find every book and what there was in it. It is a +singular fact that the only person outside those I have mentioned +who seems to have known him was that brilliant but eccentric +journalist, Thomas Purnell, who had an immense opinion of him and +used to call him ‘the scholar.’ How Purnell +managed to break through the icy wall that surrounded the recluse +always puzzled me; but I suppose they must have come across one +another at one of those pleasant inns in the north of London +where ‘the scholar’ was taking his chop and bottle of +Beaune. He was a man that never made new friends, and as +one after another of his old friends died he was left so entirely +alone that, I think, he saw no one except Mr. Swinburne, the +author of ‘Aylwin,’ and myself. But at +Christmas he always spent a week at The Pines, when and where my +father and I used to meet him. His memory was so powerful +that he seemed to be able to recall, not only all that he had +read, but the very conversations in which he had taken a +part. He died, I think, at a little over eighty, and his +faculties up to the last were exactly like those of a man in the +prime of life. He always reminded me of Charles +Lamb’s description of George Dyer.</p> +<p>Such is my outside picture of this extraordinary man; and it +is only of externals that I am free to speak here, even if I were +competent to touch upon his inner life. He was a still +greater recluse than the ‘Philip Aylwin’ of the +novel. I think I am right in saying that <a +name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>he took up +one or two Oriental tongues when he was seventy years of +age. Another of his passions was numismatics, and it was in +these studies that he sympathized with the author of +‘Aylwin’s’ friend, the late Lord de +Tabley. I remember one story of his peculiarities which +will give an idea of the kind of man he was. He had a +brother, Mr. William K. Watts, who was the exact opposite of him +in every way—strikingly good-looking, with great charm of +manner and savoir faire, but with an ordinary intellect and a +very superficial knowledge of literature, or, indeed, anything +else, except records of British military and naval +exploits—where he was really learned. Being full of +admiration of his student brother, and having a parrot-like +instinct for mimicry, he used to talk with great volubility upon +all kinds of subjects wherever he went, and repeat in the same +words what he had been listening to from his brother, until at +last he got to be called the ‘walking +encyclopædia.’ The result was that he got the +reputation of being a great reader and an original thinker, while +the true student and book-lover was frequently complimented on +the way in which he took after his learned brother. This +did not in the least annoy the real student, it simply amused +him, and he would give with a dry humour most amusing stories as +to what people had said to him on this subject.” <a +name="citation60"></a><a href="#footnote60" +class="citation">[60]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Balzac might have made this singular anecdote the nucleus of +one of his stories. I may add that the editor of +‘Notes and Queries,’ Mr. Joseph Knight, knew James +Orlando Watts, and he has stated that he ‘can testify to +the truth’ of Mr. Hake’s +‘portraiture.’</p> +<h2><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>Chapter V<br /> +EARLY GLIMPSES OF THE GYPSIES</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Although</span> an East Midlander by birth +it seems to have been to East Anglia that Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s sympathies were most strongly drawn. +It was there that he first made acquaintance with the sea, and it +was to East Anglia that his gypsy friends belonged.</p> +<p>On the East Anglian side of St. Ives, opposite to the +Hemingford side already described, the country, though not so +lovely as the western side, is at first fairly attractive; but it +becomes less and less so as it nears the Fens. The Fens, +however, would seem to have a charm of their own, and Mr. +Watts-Dunton himself has described them with a vividness that +could hardly be surpassed. It was here as a boy that he +made friends with the Gryengroes—that superior variety of +the Romanies which Borrow had known years before. These +gypsies used to bring their Welsh ponies to England and sell them +at the fairs. I must now go back for some years in order to +enrich my pages with Mr. Watts-Dunton’s graphic description +of his first meeting with the gypsies in the Fen country, which +appeared in ‘Great Thoughts’ in 1903.</p> +<blockquote><p>“I shall never forget my earliest +recollections of them. My father used sometimes to drive in +a dogcart to see friends of his through about twelve miles of Fen +country, <a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>and he used to take me with him. Let me say that +the Fen country is much more striking than is generally +supposed. Instead of leafy quick hedgerows, as in the +midlands, or walls, as in the north country, the fields are +divided by dykes; not a tree is to be seen in some parts for +miles and miles. This gives an importance to the skies such +as is observed nowhere else except on the open sea. The +flashing opalescent radiance of the sea is apt to challenge the +riches of the sky, and in a certain degree tends to neutralize +it; but in the Fen country the level, monotonous greenery of the +crops in summer, and, in autumn and winter, the vast expanse of +black earth, make the dome of the sky, by contrast, so bright and +glorious that in cloudless weather it gleams and suggests a roof +of rainbows; and in cloudy weather it seems almost the only +living sight in the universe, and becomes thus more magical +still. And as to sunsets, I do not know of any, either by +land or sea, to be compared with the sunsets to be seen in the +Fen country. The humidity of the atmosphere has, no doubt, +a good deal to do with it. The sun frequently sets in a +pageantry of gauzy vapour of every colour, quite +indescribable.</p> +<p>The first evening that I took one of these drives, while I was +watching the wreaths of blue curling smoke from countless heaps +of twitch-grass, set burning by the farm-labourers, which +stretched right up to the sky-line, my father pulled up the +dogcart and pointed to a ruddy fire glowing, flickering, and +smoking in an angle where a green grassy drove-way met the +dark-looking high-road some yards ahead. And then I saw +some tents, and then a number of dusky figures, some squatting +near the fire, some moving about. ‘The +gypsies!’ I said, in the greatest state of exultation, +which soon fled, however, when I heard a shrill whistle and saw a +lot of these dusky <a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>people running and leaping like wild things towards the +dog-cart. ‘Will they kill us, father?’ I +said. ‘Kill us? No,’ he said, laughing; +‘they are friends of mine. They’ve only come to +lead the mare past the fire and keep her from shying at +it.’ They came flocking up. So far from the +mare starting, as she would have done at such an invasion by +English people, she seemed to know and welcome the gypsies by +instinct, and seemed to enjoy their stroking her nose with their +tawny but well-shaped fingers, and caressing her neck. +Among them was one of the prettiest little gypsy girls I ever +saw. When the gypsies conducted us past their camp I was +fascinated by the charm of the picture. Outside the tents +in front of the fire, over which a kettle was suspended from an +upright iron bar, which I afterwards knew as the kettle-prop, was +spread a large dazzling white table-cloth, covered with white +crockery, among which glittered a goodly number of silver +spoons. I afterwards learnt that to possess good linen, +good crockery, and real silver spoons, was as ‘passionate a +desire in the Romany chi as in the most ambitious farmer’s +wife in the Fen country.’ It was from this little +incident that my intimacy with the gypsies dated. I +associated much with them in after life, and I have had more +experiences among them than I have yet had an opportunity of +recording in print.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This pretty gypsy girl was the prototype, I believe, of the +famous Rhona Boswell herself.</p> +<p>It must of course have been after the meeting with Rhona in +the East Midlands—supposing always that we are allowed to +identify the novelist with the hero, a bold +supposition—that Mr. Watts-Dunton again came across +her—this time in East Anglia. Whether this is so or +not, I must give this picture of her from +‘Aylwin’:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>“It was at this time that I made the acquaintance +of Winnie’s friend, Rhona Boswell, a charming little Gypsy +girl. Graylingham Wood and Rington Wood, like the entire +neighbourhood, were favourite haunts of a superior kind of +Gypsies called Gryengroes, that is to say, horse-dealers. +Their business was to buy ponies in Wales and sell them in the +Eastern Counties and the East Midlands. Thus it was that +Winnie had known many of the East Midland Gypsies in Wales. +Compared with Rhona Boswell, who was more like a fairy than a +child, Winnie seemed quite a grave little person. +Rhona’s limbs were always on the move, and the movement +sprang always from her emotions. Her laugh seemed to ring +through the woods like silver bells, a sound that it was +impossible to mistake for any other. The laughter of most +Gypsy girls is full of music and of charm, and yet Rhona’s +laughter was a sound by itself, and it was no doubt this which +afterwards, when she grew up, attracted my kinsman, Percy Aylwin, +towards her. It seemed to emanate, not from her throat +merely, but from her entire frame. If one could imagine a +strain of merriment and fun blending with the ecstatic notes of a +skylark soaring and singing, one might form some idea of the +laugh of Rhona Boswell. Ah, what days they were! +Rhona would come from Gypsy Dell, a romantic place in Rington +Manor, some miles off, especially to show us some newly devised +coronet of flowers that she had been weaving for herself. +This induced Winnie to weave for herself a coronet of seaweeds, +and an entire morning was passed in grave discussion as to which +coronet excelled the other.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>Chapter VI<br /> +SPORT AND WORK</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was at this period that, like so +many young Englishmen who were his contemporaries, he gave +attention to field sports, and took interest in that athleticism +which, to judge from Wilkie Collins’s scathing pictures, +was quite as rampant and absurd then as it is in our own +time. It was then too that he acquired that familiarity +with the figures prominent in the ring which startles one in his +reminiscences of George Borrow. But it will scarcely +interest the readers of this book to dwell long upon this +subject. Nor have I time to repeat the humorous stories I +have heard him tell about the queer characters who could then be +met at St. Ives Fair (said to have been the largest cattle fair +in England), and at another favourite resort of his, Stourbridge +Fair, near Cambridge. Stourbridge Fair still exists, but +its glory was departing when Mr. Watts-Dunton was familiar with +it; and now, possibly, it has departed for ever. Of +Cambridge and the entire county he tells many anecdotes. +Here is a specimen:—</p> +<p>Once in the early sixties he and his brother and some friends +were greatly exercised by the news that Deerfoot, the famous +American Indian runner in whom Borrow took such an interest, was +to run at Cambridge against the English champion. When the +day came, they drove to Cambridge in a dog-cart from St. Ives, +about a <a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>dozen miles. The race took place in a field called +Fenner’s Ground, much used by cricketers. This is +how, as far as I can recall the words, he tells the +anecdote:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The place was crammed with all sorts of +young men—’varsity men and others. There were +not many young farmers or squires or yeomen within a radius of a +good many miles that did not put in an appearance on that +occasion. The Indian won easily, and at the conclusion of +the race there was a frantic rush to get near him and shake his +hand. The rush was so wild and so insensate that it +irritated me more than I should at the present moment consider it +possible to be irritated. But I ought to say that at that +time of my life I had developed into a strangely imperious little +chap. I had been over-indulged—not at home, but at +the Cambridge school to which I had been sent—and +spoilt. This seems odd, but it’s true. It was +the boys who spoilt me in a curious way—a way which will +not be understood by those who went to public schools like Eton, +where the fagging principle would have stood in the way of the +development of the curious relation between me and my +fellow-pupils which I am alluding to. There is an +inscrutable form of the monarchic instinct in the genus homo +which causes boys, without in the least knowing why, to select +one boy as a kind of leader, or rather emperor, and spoil him, +almost unfit him indeed for that sense of equality which is so +valuable in the social struggle for life that follows +school-days. This kind of emperor I had been at that +school. It indicated no sort of real superiority on my +part; for I learnt that immediately after I had left the vacant +post it was filled by another boy—filled for an equally +inscrutable reason. The result of it was that I became (as +I often think when I recall <a name="page67"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 67</span>those days) the most masterful young +urchin that ever lived. If I had not been so, I could not +have got into a fury at being jostled by a good-humoured +crowd. My brother, who had not been so spoilt at school, +was very different, and kept urging me to keep my temper. +‘It’s capital fun,’ he said; ‘look at +this blue-eyed young chap jostling and being jostled close to +us. He’s fond of a hustle, and no mistake. +That’s the kind of chap I should like to know’; and +he indicated a young ’varsity man of whose elbow at that +moment I was unpleasantly conscious, and who seemed to be in a +state of delight at other elbows being pushed into his +ribs. I soon perceived that certain men whom he was with +seemed angry, not on their own account, but on account of this +youth of the laughing lips and blue eyes. As they were +trying to make a ring round him, ‘Hanged if it isn’t +the Prince!’ said my brother. ‘And look how he +takes it! Surely you can stand what he stands!’ +It was, in fact, the Prince of Wales, who had come to see the +American runner. I needed only two or three years of +buffeting with the great life outside the schoolroom to lose all +my imperiousness and learn the essential lesson of +give-and-take.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For a time Mr. Watts-Dunton wavered about being articled to +his father as a solicitor. His love of the woods and fields +was too great at that time for him to find life in a +solicitor’s office at all tolerable. Moreover, it +would seem that he who had been so precocious a student, and who +had lived in books, felt a temporary revulsion from them, and an +irresistible impulse to study Nature apart from books, to study +her face to face. And it was at this time that, as the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ remarks, he +‘moved much among the East Anglian gypsies, of whose +superstitions and folklore he <a name="page68"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 68</span>made a careful study.’ +But of this period of his life I have but little knowledge. +Judging from Groome’s remarks upon ‘Aylwin’ in +the ‘Bookman,’ he alone had Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +full confidence in the matter. So great was his desire to +pore over the book of nature, there appears to have been some +likelihood, perhaps I ought to say some danger, of his feeling +the impulse which had taken George Borrow away from +civilization. He seems, besides, to have shared with the +Greeks and with Montaigne a belief in the value of leisure. +It was at this period, to judge from his writings, that he +exclaimed with Montaigne, ‘Have you known how to regulate +your conduct, you have done a great deal more than he who has +composed books. Have you known how to take repose, you have +done more than he who has taken empires and cities.’ +I suppose, however, that this was the time when he composed that +unpublished ‘Dictionary for Nature-worshippers,’ from +which he often used to quote in the +‘Athenæum.’ There is nothing in his +writings so characteristic as those definitions. Work and +Sport are thus defined: ‘Work: that activity of mind or +body which exhausts the vital forces without yielding pleasure or +health to the individual. Sport: that activity of mind or +body which, in exhausting the vital forces, yields pleasure and +health to the individual. The activity, however severe, of +a born artist at his easel, of a born poet at his rhymings, of a +born carpenter at his plane, is sport. The activity, +however slight, of the born artist or poet at the +merchant’s desk, is work. Hence, to work is not to +pray. We have called the heresy of Work modern because it +is the characteristic one of our time; but, alas! like all +heresies, it is old. It was preached by Zoroaster in almost +Mr. Carlyle’s words when Concord itself was in the woods +and ere Chelsea was.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p68b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"‘Evening Dreams with the Poets.’ (From an Oil +Painting at ‘The Pines.’)" +title= +"‘Evening Dreams with the Poets.’ (From an Oil +Painting at ‘The Pines.’)" +src="images/p68s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>In one +of his books Mr. Watts-Dunton writes with great eloquence upon +this subject:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“How hateful is the word +‘experience’ in the mouth of the +littérateur. They all seem to think that this +universe exists to educate them, and that they should write books +about it. They never look on a sunrise without thinking +what an experience it is; how it is educating them for +bookmaking. It is this that so often turns the true +Nature-worshipper away from books altogether, that makes him +bless with what at times seems such malicious fervour those two +great benefactors of the human race, Caliph Omar and +Warburton’s cook.</p> +<p>In Thoreau there was an almost perpetual warring of the Nature +instinct with the Humanity instinct. And, to say the truth, +the number is smaller than even Nature-worshippers themselves are +aware—those in whom there is not that warring of these two +great primal instincts. For six or eight months at a time +there are many, perhaps, who could revel in ‘utter +solitude,’ as companionship with Nature is called; with no +minster clock to tell them the time of day, but, instead, the +bleating of sheep and the lowing of cattle in the morning, the +shifting of the shadows at noon, and the cawing of rooks going +home at sunset. But then to these, there comes suddenly, +and without the smallest warning, a half-recognized but secretly +sweet pleasure in looking at the smooth high-road, and thinking +that it leads to the city—a beating of the heart at the +sound of the distant railway-whistle, as the train winds its way, +like a vast gliding snake, to the whirlpool they have left.</p> +<p>In order to realize the folly of the modern Carlylean heresy +of work, it is necessary to realize fully how infinitely rich is +Nature, and how generous, and consequently <a +name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>what a sacred +duty as well as wise resolve it is that, before he ‘returns +unto the ground,’ man should drink deeply while he may at +the fountain of Life. Let it be enough for the +Nature-worshipper to know that he, at least, has been +blessed. Suppose he were to preach in London or Paris or +New York against this bastard civilization, and expatiate on +Nature’s largess, of which it robs us? Suppose he +were to say to people to whom opinion is the breath of life, +‘What is it that this civilization of yours can give you by +way of compensation for that of which it robs you? Is it +your art? Is it your literature? Is it your +music? Is it your science?’ Suppose, for +instance, he were to say to the collector of Claudes, or Turners, +or David Coxes: ‘Your possessions are precious undoubtedly, +but what are even they when set against the tamest and quietest +sunrise, in the tamest and quietest district of Cambridge or +Lincoln, in this tame and quiet month, when, over the treeless +flat you may see, and for nothing, purple bar after purple bar +trembling along the grey, as the cows lift up their heads from +the sheet of silver mist in which they are lying? How can +you really enjoy your Turners, you who have never seen a sunrise +in your lives?’ Or suppose he were to say to the +opera-goer: ‘Those notes of your favourite soprano were +superb indeed; and superb they ought to be to keep you in the +opera-house on a June night, when all over the south of England a +thousand thickets, warm with the perfumed breath of the summer +night, are musical with the gurgle of the +nightingales.’ Thoreau preached after this fashion, +and was deservedly laughed at for his pains.</p> +<p>Yet it is not a little singular that this heresy of the +sacredness of work should be most flourishing at the very time +when the sophism on which it was originally built <a +name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>is exploded; +the sophism, we mean, that Nature herself is the result of Work, +whereas she is the result of growth. One would have thought +that this was the very time for recognizing what the sophism had +blinded us to, that Nature’s permanent +temper—whatever may be said of this or that mood of +hers—is the temper of Sport, that her pet abhorrence, which +is said to be a vacuum, is really Work. We see this clearly +enough in what are called the lower animals—whether it be a +tiger or a gazelle, a ferret or a coney, a bat or a +butterfly—the final cause of the existence of every +conscious thing is that it should sport. It has no other +use than that. For this end it was that ‘the great +Vishnu yearned to create a world.’ Yet over the +toiling and moiling world sits Moloch Work; while those whose +hearts are withering up with hatred of him are told by certain +writers to fall down before him and pretend to love.</p> +<p>The worker of the mischief is, of course, civilization in +excess, or rather, civilization in wrong directions. For +this word, too, has to be newly defined in the Dictionary before +mentioned, where you will find it thus given:—Civilization: +a widening and enriching of human life. Bastard or Modern +Western Civilization: the art of inventing fictitious wants and +working to supply them. In bastard civilization life +becomes poorer and poorer, paltrier and paltrier, till at last +life goes out of fashion altogether, and is supplanted by +work. True freedom is more remote from us than ever. +For modern Freedom is thus defined: the exchange of the slavery +of feudality for the slavery of opinion. Thoreau realized +this, and tried to preach men back to common-sense and +Nature. Here was his mistake—in trying to +preach. No man ever yet had the Nature-instinct preached +into him.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>Chapter VII<br /> +EAST ANGLIA</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Whatever</span> may have been those +experiences with the gryengroes which made Groome, when speaking +of the gypsies of ‘Aylwin,’ say ‘the author +writes only of what he knows,’ it seems to have been after +his intercourse with the gypsies that he and a younger brother, +Alfred Eugene Watts (elsewhere described), were articled as +solicitors to their father. His bent, however, was always +towards literature, especially poetry, of which he had now +written a great deal—indeed, the major part of the volume +which was destined to lie unpublished for so many years. +But before I deal with the most important period of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s life—his life in London—it seems +necessary to say a word or two about his visits to East Anglia, +and especially to the Norfolk coast. There are some +admirable remarks upon the East Coast in Mr. William +Sharp’s chapter on ‘Aylwinland’ in +‘Literary Geography,’ and he notes the way in which +Rhona Boswell links it with Cowslip Land; but he does not give +examples of the poems which thus link it, such as the double +roundel called ‘The Golden Hand.’</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>THE GOLDEN +HAND <a name="citation73a"></a><a href="#footnote73a" +class="citation">[73a]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Percy</span></p> +<p>Do you forget that day on Rington strand<br /> +When, near the crumbling ruin’s parapet,<br /> +I saw you stand beside the long-shore net<br /> +The gorgios spread to dry on sunlit sand?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Rhona</span></p> +<p>Do I forget?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Percy</span></p> +<p>You wove the wood-flowers in a dewy band<br /> +Around your hair which shone as black as jet:<br /> +No fairy’s crown of bloom was ever set<br /> +Round brows so sweet as those the wood-flowers spanned.</p> +<p>I see that picture now; hair dewy-wet:<br /> +Dark eyes that pictures in the sky expand:<br /> +Love-lips (with one tattoo ‘for dukkerin’ <a +name="citation73b"></a><a href="#footnote73b" +class="citation">[73b]</a>) tanned<br /> +By sunny winds that kiss them as you stand.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Rhona</span></p> +<p> Do I forget?<br /> +The Golden Hand shone there: it’s you forget,<br /> +Or p’raps us Romanies ondly understand<br /> +The way the Lover’s Dukkeripen is planned<br /> +Which shone that second time when us two met.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Percy</span></p> +<p>Blest ‘Golden Hand’!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Rhona</span></p> +<p>The wind, that mixed the smell o’ violet<br /> +Wi’ chirp o’ bird, a-blowin’ from the land<br +/> +<a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>Where my +dear Mammy lies, said as it fanned<br /> +My heart-like, ‘Them ’ere tears makes Mammy +fret.’<br /> +She loves to see her chavi <a name="citation74"></a><a +href="#footnote74" class="citation">[74]</a> lookin’ +grand,<br /> +So I made what you call’d a coronet,<br /> +And in the front I put her amulet:<br /> +She sent the Hand to show she sees me yet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Percy</span></p> +<p>Blest ‘Golden Hand’!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the same way that the velvety green of Hunts is seen in the +verses I have already quoted, so the softer side of the inland +scenery of East Anglia is described in the following lines, where +also we find an exquisite use of the East Anglian fancy about the +fairies and the foxglove bells.</p> +<p>At a waltz during certain Venetian revels after the liberation +from the Austrian yoke, a forsaken lover stands and watches a +lady whose child-love he had won in England:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Has she forgotten for such halls as these<br /> + The domes the angels built in holy times,<br /> + When wings were ours in childhood’s flowery +climes<br /> +To dance with butterflies and golden bees?—<br /> +Forgotten how the sunny-fingered breeze<br /> + Shook out those English harebells’ magic +chimes<br /> + On that child-wedding morn, ’neath English +limes,<br /> +’Mid wild-flowers tall enough to kiss her knees?</p> +<p>The love that childhood cradled—girlhood +nursed—<br /> + Has she forgotten it for this dull play,<br /> + Where far-off pigmies seem to waltz and sway<br /> +Like dancers in a telescope reversed?<br /> + Or does not pallid Conscience come and say,<br /> +‘Who sells her glory of beauty stands accursed’?</p> +<p>But was it this that bought her—this poor splendour<br +/> + That won her from her troth and wild-flower +wreath<br /> + Who ‘cracked the foxglove bells’ on +Grayland Heath,<br /> +<a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>Or played +with playful winds that tried to bend her,<br /> +Or, tripping through the deer-park, tall and slender,<br /> + Answered the larks above, the crakes beneath,<br /> + Or mocked, with glitter of laughing lips and +teeth,<br /> +When Love grew grave—to hide her soul’s +surrender?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Sharp has dwelt upon the striking way in which the scenery +and atmosphere are rendered in ‘Aylwin,’ but this, as +I think, is even more clearly seen in the poems. And in +none of these is it seen so vividly as in that exhilarating poem, +‘Gypsy Heather,’ published in the +‘Athenæum,’ and not yet garnered in a +volume. This poem also shows his lyrical power, which never +seems to be at its very best unless he is depicting Romany life +and Romany passion. The metre of this poem is as original +as that of ‘The Gypsy Haymaking Song,’ quoted in an +earlier chapter. It has a swing like that of no other +poem:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">GYPSY HEATHER</p> +<p>‘If you breathe on a heather-spray and send it to your +man it’ll show him the selfsame heather where it wur +born.’—<span class="smcap">Sinfi Lovell</span>.</p> +<p>[Percy Aylwin, standing on the deck of the +‘Petrel,’ takes from his pocket a letter which, +before he had set sail to return to the south seas, the Melbourne +post had brought him—a letter from Rhona, staying then with +the Boswells on a patch of heath much favoured by the Boswells, +called ‘Gypsy Heather.’ He takes from the +envelope a withered heather-spray, encircled by a little scroll +of paper on which Rhona has written the words, ‘Remember +Gypsy Heather.’]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">I</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +Remember Jasper’s camping-place<br /> + Where heath-bells meet the grassy dingle,<br /> +And scents of meadow, wood and chase,<br /> + Wild thyme and whin-flower seem to mingle?<br /> +Remember where, in Rington Furze,<br /> + I kissed her and she asked me whether<br /> +<a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>I +‘thought my lips of teazel-burrs,<br /> +That pricked her jis like whin-bush spurs,<br /> +Felt nice on a rinkenny moey <a name="citation76"></a><a +href="#footnote76" class="citation">[76]</a> like +hers?’—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +Remember her whom nought could tame<br /> + But love of me, the poacher-maiden<br /> +Who showed me once my father’s game<br /> + With which her plump round arms were laden<br /> +Who, when my glances spoke reproach,<br /> + Said, “Things o’ fur an’ fin +an’ feather<br /> +Like coneys, pheasants, perch an’ loach,<br /> +An’ even the famous ‘Rington roach,’<br /> +Wur born for Romany chies to poach!”—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +Atolls and reefs, you change, you change<br /> + To dells of England dewy and tender;<br /> +You palm-trees in yon coral range<br /> + Seem ‘Rington Birches’ sweet and +slender<br /> +Shading the ocean’s fiery glare:<br /> + We two are in the Dell together—<br /> +My body is here, my soul is there<br /> +With lords of trap and net and snare,<br /> +The Children of the Open Air,—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +Its pungent breath is on the wind,<br /> + Killing the scent of tropic water;<br /> +I see her suitors swarthy skinned,<br /> + Who pine in vain for Jasper’s daughter.<br /> +The ‘Scollard,’ with his features tanned<br /> + By sun and wind as brown as leather—<br /> +<a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>His +forehead scarred with Passion’s brand—<br /> +Scowling at Sinfi tall and grand,<br /> +Who sits with Pharaoh by her hand,—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">V</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +Now Rhona sits beneath the tree<br /> + That shades our tent, alone and weeping;<br /> +And him, the ‘Scollard,’ him I see:<br /> + From bush to bush I see him creeping—<br /> +I see her mock him, see her run<br /> + And free his pony from the tether,<br /> +Who lays his ears in love and fun,<br /> +And gallops with her in the sun<br /> +Through lace the gossamers have spun,—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VI</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +She reaches ‘Rington Birches’; now,<br /> + Dismounting from the ‘Scollard’s’ +pony,<br /> +She sits alone with heavy brow,<br /> + Thinking, but not of hare or coney.<br /> +The hot sea holds each sight, each sound<br /> + Of England’s golden autumn weather:<br /> +The Romanies now are sitting round<br /> +The tea-cloth spread on grassy ground;<br /> +Now Rhona dances heather-crowned,—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VII</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +She’s thinking of this withered spray<br /> + Through all the dance; her eyes are gleaming<br /> +Darker than night, yet bright as day,<br /> + While round her a gypsy shawl is streaming;<br /> +I see the lips—the upper curled,<br /> + A saucy rose-leaf, from the nether,<br /> +<a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>Whence—while the floating shawl is twirled,<br /> +As if a ruddy cloud were swirled—<br /> +Her scornful laugh at him is hurled,—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VIII</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +In storm or calm, in sun or rain,<br /> + There’s magic, Rhona, in the writing<br /> +Wound round these flowers whose purple stain<br /> + Dims the dear scrawl of Love’s inditing:<br /> +Dear girl, this spray between the leaves<br /> + (Now fading like a draggled feather<br /> +With which the nesting song-bird weaves)<br /> +Makes every wave the vessel cleaves<br /> +Seem purple of heather as it heaves,—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IX</p> +<p> Remember +Gypsy Heather?<br /> +Oh, Rhona! sights and sounds of home<br /> + Are everywhere; the skylark winging<br /> +Through amber cloud-films till the dome<br /> + Seems filled with love, our love, a-singing.<br /> +The sea-wind seems an English breeze<br /> + Bearing the bleat of ewe and wether<br /> +Over the heath from Rington Leas,<br /> +Where, to the hymn of birds and bees,<br /> +You taught me Romany ’neath the trees,—<br /> + Gypsy +Heather!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Another reason that makes it necessary for me to touch upon +the inland part of East Anglia is that I have certain remarks to +make upon what are called ‘the Omarian poems of Mr. +Watts-Dunton.’ Although, as I have before hinted, St. +Ives, being in Hunts, belongs topographically to the East +Midlands, its sympathies are East Anglian. This perhaps is +partly because it is the extreme <a name="page79"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 79</span>east of Hunts, and partly because the +mouth of the Ouse is at Lynn: to those whom Mr. Norris +affectionately calls St. Ivians and Hemingfordians, the seaside +means Yarmouth, Lowestoft, Cromer, Hunstanton, and the towns on +the Suffolk coast. The splendour of Norfolk ale may also +partly account for it. This perhaps also explains why the +famous East Anglian translator of Omar Khayyàm would seem +to have been known to a few Omarians on the banks of the Ouse and +Cam as soon as the great discoverer of good things, Rossetti, +pounced upon it in the penny box of a second-hand +bookseller. Readers of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s obituary +notice of F. H. Groome in the ‘Athenæum’ will +recall these words:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It was not merely upon Romany subjects that +Groome found points of sympathy at ‘The Pines’ during +that first luncheon; there was that other subject before +mentioned, Edward FitzGerald and Omar Khayyàm. We, a +handful of Omarians of those antediluvian days, were perhaps all +the more intense in our cult because we believed it to be +esoteric. And here was a guest who had been brought into +actual personal contact with the wonderful old +‘Fitz.’ As a child of eight he had seen him, +talked with him, been patted on the head by him. +Groome’s father, the Archdeacon of Suffolk, was one of +FitzGerald’s most intimate friends. This was at once +a delightful and a powerful link between Frank Groome and those +at the luncheon table; and when he heard, as he soon did, the +toast to ‘Omar Khayyàm,’ none drank that toast +with more gusto than he. The fact is, as the Romanies say, +true friendship, like true love, is apt to begin at first +sight.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is the poem alluded to: it is entitled, ‘Toast to +Omar Khayyàm: An East Anglian echo-chorus inscribed <a +name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>to old +Omarian Friends in memory of happy days by Ouse and +Cam’:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>In this red wine, where memory’s eyes seem glowing,<br +/> + And days when wines were bright by Ouse and Cam,<br +/> +And Norfolk’s foaming nectar glittered, showing<br /> +What beard of gold John Barleycorn was growing,<br /> +We drink to thee, right heir of Nature’s knowing,<br /> + + +Omar Khayyàm!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">I</p> +<p>Star-gazer, who canst read, when Night is strowing<br /> + Her scriptured orbs on Time’s wide +oriflamme,<br /> + Nature’s proud blazon: ‘Who shall bless +or damn?<br /> +Life, Death, and Doom are all of my bestowing!’<br /> + <span +class="smcap">Chorus</span>: Omar Khayyàm!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II</p> +<p>Poet, whose stream of balm and music, flowing<br /> + Through Persian gardens, widened till it +swam—<br /> + A fragrant tide no bank of Time shall dam—<br +/> +Through Suffolk meads, where gorse and may were +blowing,—<br /> + <span +class="smcap">Chorus</span>: Omar Khayyàm!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III</p> +<p>Who blent thy song with sound of cattle lowing,<br /> + And caw of rooks that perch on ewe and ram,<br /> + And hymn of lark, and bleat of orphan lamb,<br /> +And swish of scythe in Bredfield’s dewy mowing?<br /> + <span +class="smcap">Chorus</span>: Omar Khayyàm!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV</p> +<p>’Twas Fitz, ‘Old Fitz,’ whose knowledge, +farther going<br /> + Than lore of Omar, ‘Wisdom’s starry +Cham,’<br /> + Made richer still thine opulent epigram:<br /> +Sowed seed from seed of thine immortal sowing.—<br /> + <span +class="smcap">Chorus</span>: Omar Khayyàm!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">V</p> +<p>In this red wine, where Memory’s eyes seem glowing,<br +/> + And days when wines were bright by Ouse and Cam,<br +/> +<a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>And +Norfolk’s foaming nectar glittered, showing<br /> +What beard of gold John Barleycorn was growing,<br /> +We drink to thee till, hark! the cock is crowing!<br /> + Omar +Khayyàm!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was many years after this—it was as a member of +another Omar Khayyàm Club of much greater celebrity than +the little brotherhood of Ouse and Cam—not large enough to +be called a club—that Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote the following +well-known sonnet:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">PRAYER TO THE WINDS</p> +<p>On planting at the head of FitzGerald’s grave two +rose-trees whose ancestors had scattered their petals over the +tomb of Omar Khayyàm.</p> +<p>“My tomb shall be on a spot where the north wind may +strow roses upon it.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Omar +Khayyàm to Kwájah Nizami</span>.</p> +<p>Hear us, ye winds! From where the north-wind strows<br +/> + Blossoms that crown ‘the King of +Wisdom’s’ tomb,<br /> + The trees here planted bring remembered bloom,<br /> +Dreaming in seed of Love’s ancestral rose,<br /> +To meadows where a braver north-wind blows<br /> + O’er greener grass, o’er hedge-rose, +may, and broom,<br /> + And all that make East England’s +field-perfume<br /> +Dearer than any fragrance Persia knows.</p> +<p>Hear us, ye winds, North, East, and West, and South!<br /> +This granite covers him whose golden mouth<br /> + Made wiser ev’n the Word of Wisdom’s +King:<br /> +Blow softly over Omar’s Western herald<br /> + Till roses rich of Omar’s dust shall spring<br +/> +From richer dust of Suffolk’s rare FitzGerald.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I must now quote another of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s East +Anglian poems, partly because it depicts the weird charm of the +Norfolk coast, and partly because it illustrates that sympathy +between the poet and the lower <a name="page82"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 82</span>animals which I have already +noted. I have another reason: not long ago, that good East +Anglian, Mr. Rider Haggard interested us all by telling how +telepathy seemed to have the power of operating between a dog and +its beloved master in certain rare and extraordinary cases. +When the poem appeared in the ‘Saturday Review’ +(December 20, 1902), it was described as ‘part of a +forthcoming romance.’ It records a case of telepathy +between man and dog quite as wonderful as that narrated by Mr. +Rider Haggard:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">CAUGHT IN THE EBBING +TIDE</p> +<p>The mightiest Titan’s stroke could not withstand<br /> + An ebbing tide like this. These swirls +denote<br /> + How wind and tide conspire. I can but float<br +/> +To the open sea and strike no more for land.<br /> +Farewell, brown cliffs, farewell, beloved sand<br /> + Her feet have pressed—farewell, dear little +boat<br /> + Where Gelert, <a name="citation82"></a><a +href="#footnote82" class="citation">[82]</a> calmly sitting on my +coat,<br /> +Unconscious of my peril, gazes bland!</p> +<p>All dangers grip me save the deadliest, fear:<br /> + Yet these air-pictures of the past that +glide—<br /> + These death-mirages o’er the heaving +tide—<br /> +Showing two lovers in an alcove clear,<br /> + Will break my heart. I see them and I hear<br +/> +As there they sit at morning, side by side.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">The First +Vision</span></p> +<p><i>With Raxton elms behind—in front the sea</i>,<br /> + <i>Sitting in rosy light in that alcove</i>,<br /> + <i>They hear the first lark rise o’er Raxton +Grove</i>;<br /> +‘<i>What should I do with fame</i>, <i>dear +heart</i>?’ <i>says he</i>.<br /> +‘<i>You talk of fame</i>, <i>poetic fame</i>, <i>to +me</i><br /> + <i>Whose crown is not of laurel but of +love</i>—<br /> + <i>To me who would not give this little glove</i><br +/> +<i>On this dear hand for Shakspeare’s dower in fee</i>.</p> +<p><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span><i>While</i>, <i>rising red and kindling every +billow</i>,<br /> + <i>The sun’s shield shines</i> ’<i>neath +many a golden spear</i>,<br /> +<i>To lean with you against this leafy pillow</i>,<br /> + <i>To murmur words of love in this loved +ear</i>—<br /> +<i>To feel you bending like a bending willow</i>,<br /> + <i>This is to be a poet</i>—<i>this</i>, <i>my +dear</i>!’</p> +<p>O God, to die and leave her—die and leave<br /> + The heaven so lately won!—And then, to know<br +/> + What misery will be hers—what lonely +woe!—<br /> +To see the bright eyes weep, to see her grieve<br /> +Will make me a coward as I sink, and cleave<br /> + To life though Destiny has bid me go.<br /> + How shall I bear the pictures that will glow<br /> +Above the glowing billows as they heave?</p> +<p>One picture fades, and now above the spray<br /> + Another shines: ah, do I know the bowers<br /> + Where that sweet woman stands—the woodland +flowers,<br /> +In that bright wreath of grass and new-mown hay—<br /> + That birthday wreath I wove when earthly hours<br /> +Wore angel-wings,—till portents brought dismay?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">The Second +Vision</span></p> +<p><i>Proud of her wreath as laureate of his laurel</i>,<br /> + <i>She smiles on him</i>—<i>on him</i>, <i>the +prouder giver</i>,<br /> + <i>As there they stand beside the sunlit +river</i><br /> +<i>Where petals flush with rose the grass and sorrel</i>:<br /> +<i>The chirping reed-birds</i>, <i>in their play or +quarrel</i>,<br /> + <i>Make musical the stream where lilies +quiver</i>—<br /> + <i>Ah</i>! <i>suddenly he feels her slim waist +shiver</i>:<br /> +<i>She speaks</i>: <i>her lips grow grey</i>—<i>her lips of +coral</i>!</p> +<p>‘<i>From out my wreath two heart-shaped seeds are +swaying</i>,<br /> + <i>The seeds of which that gypsy girl has +spoken</i>—<br /> + ’<i>Tis fairy grass</i>, <i>alas</i>! <i>the +lover’s token</i>.’<br /> +<i>She lifts her fingers to her forehead</i>, <i>saying</i>,<br +/> + ‘<i>Touch the twin hearts</i>.’ +<i>Says he</i>, ‘’<i>Tis idle playing</i>’:<br +/> + <i>He touches them</i>; <i>they +fall</i>—<i>fall bruised and broken</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>Shall I +turn coward here who sailed with Death<br /> + Through many a tempest on mine own North Sea,<br /> + And quail like him of old who bowed the +knee—<br /> +Faithless—to billows of Genesereth?<br /> +Did I turn coward when my very breath<br /> + Froze on my lips that Alpine night when he<br /> + Stood glimmering there, the Skeleton, with me,<br /> +While avalanches rolled from peaks beneath?</p> +<p>Each billow bears me nearer to the verge<br /> + Of realms where she is not—where love must +wait.—<br /> +If Gelert, there, could hear, no need to urge<br /> + That friend, so faithful, true, affectionate,<br /> + To come and help me, or to share my fate.<br /> +Ah! surely I see him springing through the surge.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[The dog, plunging into the tide and +striking<br /> +towards him with immense strength, reaches<br /> +him and swims round him.]</p> +<p>Oh, Gelert, strong of wind and strong of paw<br /> + Here gazing like your namesake, +‘Snowdon’s Hound,’<br /> + When great Llewelyn’s child could not be +found,<br /> +And all the warriors stood in speechless awe—<br /> +Mute as your namesake when his master saw<br /> + The cradle tossed—the rushes red +around—<br /> + With never a word, but only a whimpering sound<br /> +To tell what meant the blood on lip and jaw.</p> +<p>In such a strait, to aid this gaze so fond,<br /> + Should I, brave friend, have needed other speech<br +/> +Than this dear whimper? Is there not a bond<br /> + Stronger than words that binds us each to +each?—<br /> +But Death has caught us both. ’Tis far beyond<br /> + The strength of man or dog to win the beach.</p> +<p>Through tangle-weed—through coils of slippery kelp<br /> + Decking your shaggy forehead, those brave eyes<br /> + Shine true—shine deep of love’s divine +surmise<br /> +As hers who gave you—then a Titan whelp!<br /> +I think you know my danger and would help!<br /> + See how I point to yonder smack that lies<br /> + <a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>At anchor—Go! His countenance replies.<br /> +Hope’s music rings in Gelert’s eager yelp!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[The dog swims swiftly away down the +tide.</p> +<p>Now, life and love and death swim out with him!<br /> + If he should reach the smack, the men will guess<br +/> + The dog has left his master in distress.<br /> +You taught him in these very waves to swim—<br /> +‘The prince of pups,’ you said, ‘for wind and +limb’—<br /> + And now those lessons, darling, come to bless.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span></p> +<p>(The day after the rescue: Gelert and I walking along the +sand.)</p> +<p>’Twas in no glittering tourney’s mimic +strife,—<br /> + ’Twas in that bloody fight in Raxton Grove,<br +/> + While hungry ravens croaked from boughs above,<br /> +And frightened blackbirds shrilled the warning fife—<br /> +’Twas there, in days when Friendship still was rife,<br /> + Mine ancestor who threw the challenge-glove<br /> + Conquered and found his foe a soul to love,<br /> +Found friendship—Life’s great second crown of +life.</p> +<p>So I this morning love our North Sea more<br /> + Because he fought me well, because these waves<br /> +Now weaving sunbows for us by the shore<br /> + Strove with me, tossed me in those emerald caves<br +/> + That yawned above my head like conscious +graves—<br /> +I love him as I never loved before.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In these days when so much is written about the intelligence +of the lower animals, when ‘Hans,’ the +‘thinking horse,’ is ‘interviewed’ by +eminent scientists, the exploit of the Second Gelert is not +without interest. I may, perhaps, mention a strange +experience of my own. The late Betts Bey, a well-known +figure in St. Peter’s Port, Guernsey, had a fine black +retriever, named Caro. During a long summer holiday which +we spent in Guernsey, Caro became greatly attached to a friend, +and Betts Bey presented him to her. He was a magnificent +fellow, <a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>valiant as a lion, and a splendid diver and +swimmer. He often plunged off the parapet of the bridge +which spans the Serpentine. Indeed, he would have dived +from any height. His intelligence was surprising. If +we wished to make him understand that he was not to accompany us, +we had only to say, ‘Caro, we are going to +church!’ As soon as he heard the word +‘church’ his barks would cease, his tail would drop, +and he would look mournfully resigned. One evening, as I +was writing in my room, Caro began to scratch outside the door, +uttering those strange ‘woof-woofs’ which were his +canine language. I let him in, but he would not rest. +He stood gazing at me with an intense expression, and, turning +towards the door, waited impatiently. For some time I took +no notice of his dumb appeal, but his excitement increased, and +suddenly a vague sense of ill seemed to pass from him into my +mind. Drawn half-consciously I rose, and at once with a +strange half-human whine Caro dashed upstairs. I followed +him. He ran into a bedroom, and there in the dark I found +my friend lying unconscious. It is well-nigh certain that +Caro thus saved my friend’s life.</p> +<h2><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>Chapter VIII<br /> +LONDON</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Between</span> Mr. Watts-Dunton and the +brother who came next to him, before mentioned, there was a very +great affection, although the difference between them, mentally +and physically, was quite noticeable. They were articled to +their father on the same day and admitted solicitors on the same +day, a very unusual thing with solicitors and their sons. +Mr. Watts-Dunton afterwards passed a short term in one of the +great conveyancing offices in London in order to become +proficient in conveyancing. His brother did the same in +another office in Bedford Row; but he afterwards practised for +himself. Mr. A. E. Watts soon had a considerable practice +as family solicitor and conveyancer. Mr. Hake identifies +him with Cyril Aylwin, but before I quote Mr. Hake’s +interesting account of him, I will give the vivid description of +Cyril in ‘Aylwin’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Juvenile curls clustered thick and short +beneath his wideawake. He had at first struck me as being +not much more than a lad, till, as he gave me that rapid, +searching glance in passing, I perceived the little crow’s +feet round his eyes, and he then struck me immediately as being +probably on the verge of thirty-five. His figure was slim +and thin, his waist almost girlish in its fall. I should +have considered him small, had not the unusually deep, loud, +manly, and sonorous voice with which he had <a +name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>accosted +Sinfi conveyed an impression of size and weight such as even big +men do not often produce. This deep voice, coupled with +that gaunt kind of cheek which we associate with the most demure +people, produced an effect of sedateness . . . but in the one +glance I had got from those watchful, sagacious, twinkling eyes, +there was an expression quite peculiar to them, quite +inscrutable, quite indescribable.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Cyril Aylwin was at first thought to be a portrait of +Whistler, which is not quite so outrageously absurd as the wild +conjecture that William Morris was the original of +Wilderspin. Mr. Hake says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I am especially able to speak of this +character, who has been inquired about more than any other in the +book. I knew him, I think, even before I knew Rossetti and +Morris, or any of that group. He was a brother of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s—Mr. Alfred Eugene Watts. He +lived at Sydenham, and died suddenly, either in 1870 or 1871, +very shortly after I had met him at a wedding party. Among +the set in which I moved at that time he had a great reputation +as a wit and humorist. His style of humour always struck me +as being more American than English. While bringing out +humorous things that would set a dinner table in a roar, he would +himself maintain a perfectly unmoved countenance. And it +was said of him, as ‘Wilderspin’ says of ‘Cyril +Aylwin,’ that he was never known to laugh.” <a +name="citation88"></a><a href="#footnote88" +class="citation">[88]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>After a time Mr. Watts-Dunton joined his brother, and the two +practised together in London. They also lived together at +Sydenham. Some time after this, however, <a +name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>Mr. +Watts-Dunton determined to abandon the law for literature. +The brothers migrated to Sydenham, because at that time Mr. +Watts-Dunton pursued music with an avidity and interest which +threatened for a time to interfere with those literary energies +which it was now his intention to exercise. At that time +the orchestral concerts at the Crystal Palace under Manns, given +every morning and every afternoon, were a great attraction to +music lovers, and Mr. Watts-Dunton, who lived close by, rarely +missed either the morning or the afternoon concert. It was +in this way that he became steeped in German music; and +afterwards, when he became intimate with Dr. F. Hueffer, the +musical critic of the ‘Times,’ and the exponent of +Wagner in Great Britain, he became a thorough Wagnerian.</p> +<p>It was during this time, and through the extraordinary social +attractions of his brother, that Mr. Watts-Dunton began to move +very much in London life, and saw a great deal of what is called +London society. After his brother’s death he took +chambers in Great James Street, close to Mr. Swinburne, with whom +he had already become intimate. And according to Mr. Hake, +in his paper in ‘T. P.’s Weekly’ above quoted +from, it was here that he wrote ‘Aylwin.’ I +have already alluded to his record of this most interesting +event:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I have just read,” he says, +“with the greatest interest the article in your number of +Sept. 18, 1903, called ‘How Authors Work Best.’ +But the following sentence in it set me reflecting: +‘Flaubert took ten years to write and repolish +“Madame Bovary,” Watts-Dunton twenty years to write, +recast, and conclude “Aylwin.”’ The +statement about ‘Aylwin’ has often been made, and in +<a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>these days +of hasty production it may well be taken by the author as a +compliment; but it is as entirely apocryphal as that about +Scott’s brother having written the Waverley Novels, and as +that about Bramwell Brontë having written ‘Wuthering +Heights.’ As to ‘Aylwin,’ I happen to be +in a peculiarly authoritative position to speak upon the genesis +of this very popular book. If any one were to peruse the +original manuscript of the story he would find it in four +different handwritings—my late father’s, and two of +my brothers’, but principally in mine.</p> +<p>Yet I can aver that it was not written by us, and also that +its composition did not take twenty years to achieve. It +was dictated to us.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Dr. Gordon Hake is mainly known as the ‘parable +poet,’ but as a fact he was a physician of extraordinary +talent, who had practised first at Bury St. Edmunds and +afterwards at Spring Gardens, until he partly retired to be +private physician to the late Lady Ripon. After her death +he left practice altogether in order to devote himself to +literature, for which he had very great equipments. As +‘Aylwin’ touched upon certain subtle nervous phases +it must have been a great advantage to the author to dictate +these portions of the story to so skilled and experienced a +friend. The rare kind of cerebral exaltation into which +Henry Aylwin passed after his appalling experience in the Cove, +in which the entire nervous system was disturbed, was not what is +known as brain fever. The record of it in +‘Aylwin’ is, I understand, a literal account of a +rare and wonderful case brought under the professional notice of +Dr. Hake.</p> +<p>As physician to Rossetti, a few years after the death of his +beloved wife, Dr. Hake’s services must have been priceless +to the poet-painter; for, as is only too well <a +name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>known, +Rossetti’s grief for the death of his wife had for some +time a devastating effect upon his mind. It was one of the +causes of that terrible insomnia to relieve himself from which he +resorted to chloral, though later on the attacks upon him by +certain foes intensified the distressing ailment. The +insomnia produced fits of melancholia, an ailment, according to +the skilled opinion of Dr. Hake, more difficult than all others +to deal with; for when the nervous system has sunk to a certain +state of depression, the mind roams over the universe, as it +were, in quest of imaginary causes for the depression. This +accounts for the ‘cock and bull’ stories that were +somewhat rife immediately after Rossetti’s death about his +having expressed remorse on account of his ill-treatment of his +wife. No one of his intimates took the least notice of +these wild and whirling words. For he would express remorse +on account of the most fantastic things when the fits of +melancholia were upon him; and when these fits were past he would +smile at the foolish things he had said. I get this +knowledge from a very high authority, Dr. Hake’s +son—Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake, before mentioned—who knew +Rossetti intimately from 1871 until his death, having lived under +the same roof with him at Cheyne Walk, Bognor and +Kelmscott. After Rossetti’s most serious attack of +melancholia, his relations and friends persuaded him to stay with +Dr. Hake at Roehampton, and it was there that the terrible crisis +of his illness was passed.</p> +<p>It is interesting to know that in the original form of +‘Aylwin’ the important part taken in the development +of the story by D’Arcy was taken by Dr. Hake, under the +name of Gordon, and that afterwards, when all sorts of ungenerous +things were written about Rossetti, D’Arcy was substituted +for Gordon in order to give the author <a name="page92"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 92</span>an opportunity of bringing out and +showing the world the absolute nobility and charm of +Rossetti’s character.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p92b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Painted and +Carved Cabinet" +title= +"A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Painted and +Carved Cabinet" +src="images/p92s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Among the many varieties of life which Mr. Watts-Dunton saw at +this time was life in the slums; and this was long before the +once fashionable pastime of ‘slumming’ was +invented. The following lines in Dr. Hake’s +‘New Day’ allude to the deep interest that Mr. +Watts-Dunton has always shown in the poor—shown years +before the writers who now deal with the slums had written a +line. Artistically, they are not fair specimens of Dr. +Gordon Hake’s verses, but nevertheless it is interesting to +quote them here:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Know you a widow’s home? an orphanage?<br /> + A place of shelter for the +crippled poor?<br /> +Did ever limbless men your care engage<br /> + Whom you assisted of your larger store?<br /> +Know you the young who are to early die—<br /> + At their frail form sinks not your heart within?<br +/> +Know you the old who paralytic lie<br /> + While you the freshness of your life begin?<br /> +Know you the great pain-bearers who long carry<br /> + The bullet in the breast that does not kill?<br /> +And those who in the house of madness tarry,<br /> + Beyond the blest relief of human skill?<br /> +These have you visited, all these assisted,<br /> +In the high ranks of charity enlisted.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That Mr. Watts-Dunton has retained his interest in the poor is +shown by the sonnet, ‘Father Christmas in Famine +Street,’ which was originally printed as ‘an +appeal’ on Christmas Eve in the +‘Athenæum’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>When Father Christmas went down Famine Street<br +/> + He saw two little sisters: one was trying<br /> + To lift the other, pallid, wasted, dying,<br /> +Within an arch, beyond the slush and sleet.</p> +<p><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>From +out the glazing eyes a glimmer sweet<br /> + Leapt, as in answer to the other’s sighing,<br +/> + While came a murmur, ‘Don’t ’ee +keep on crying—<br /> +I wants to die: you’ll get my share to eat.’<br /> +Her knell was tolled by joy-bells of the city<br /> +Hymning the birth of Jesus, Lord of Pity,<br /> + Lover of children, Shepherd of Compassion.<br /> +Said Father Christmas, while his eyes grew dim,<br /> + ‘They do His bidding—if in thrifty +fashion:<br /> +They let the little children go to Him.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With this sonnet should be placed that entitled, +‘Dickens Returns on Christmas Day’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>A ragged girl in Drury Lane was heard to exclaim: +‘Dickens dead? Then will Father Christmas die +too?’—June 9, 1870.</p> +<p>‘Dickens is dead!’ Beneath that grievous +cry<br /> + London seemed shivering in the summer heat;<br /> + Strangers took up the tale like friends that +meet:<br /> +‘Dickens is dead!’ said they, and hurried by;<br /> +Street children stopped their games—they knew not why,<br +/> + But some new night seemed darkening down the +street.<br /> + A girl in rags, staying her wayworn feet,<br /> +Cried, ‘Dickens dead? Will Father Christmas +die?’</p> +<p>City he loved, take courage on thy way!<br /> + He loves thee still, in all thy joys and fears.<br +/> +Though he whose smile made bright thine eyes of grey—<br /> + Though he whose voice, uttering thy burthened +years,<br /> + Made laughters bubble through thy sea of +tears—<br /> +Is gone, Dickens returns on Christmas Day!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Let me say here, parenthetically, that ‘The Pines’ +is so far out of date that for twenty-five years it has been +famous for its sympathy with the Christmas sentiment which now +seems to be fading, as this sonnet shows:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>THE CHRISTMAS +TREE AT ‘THE PINES.’</p> +<p>Life still hath one romance that naught can bury—<br /> + Not Time himself, who coffins Life’s +romances—<br /> + For still will Christmas gild the year’s +mischances,<br /> +If Childhood comes, as here, to make him merry—<br /> +To kiss with lips more ruddy than the cherry—<br /> + To smile with eyes outshining by their glances<br /> + The Christmas tree—to dance with fairy +dances<br /> +And crown his hoary brow with leaf and berry.</p> +<p>And as to us, dear friend, the carols sung<br /> + Are fresh as ever. Bright is yonder bough<br +/> +Of mistletoe as that which shone and swung<br /> + When you and I and Friendship made a vow<br /> + That Childhood’s Christmas still should seal +each brow—<br /> +Friendship’s, and yours, and mine—and keep us +young.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I may also quote from ‘Prophetic Pictures at +Venice’ this romantic description of the Rosicrucian +Christmas:—</p> +<blockquote><p>(The morning light falls on the Rosicrucian +panel-picture called ‘The Rosy Scar,’ depicting +Christian galley-slaves on board an Algerine galley, watching, on +Christmas Eve, for the promised appearance of Rosenkreutz, as a +‘rosy phantom.’ The Lover reads aloud the +descriptive verses on the frame.)</p> +<p>While Night’s dark horses waited for the wind,<br /> + He stood—he shone—where Sunset’s +fiery glaives<br /> + Flickered behind the clouds; then, o’er the +waves,<br /> +He came to them, Faith’s remnant sorrow-thinned.<br /> +The Paynim sailors clustering, tawny-skinned,<br /> + Cried, ‘Who is he that comes to Christian +slaves?<br /> + Nor water-sprite nor jinni of sunset caves,<br /> +The rosy phantom stands nor winged nor finned.’</p> +<p>All night he stood till shone the Christmas star;<br /> + Slowly the Rosy Cross, streak after streak,<br /> +Flushed the grey sky—flushed sea and sail and spar,<br /> + Flushed, blessing every slave’s woe-wasted +cheek.<br /> + Then did great Rosenkreutz, the Dew-King speak:<br +/> +‘Sufferers, take heart! Christ lends the Rosy +Scar.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>Chapter IX<br /> +GEORGE BORROW</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was not until 1872 that Mr. +Watts-Dunton was introduced to Borrow by Dr. Gordon Hake, +Borrow’s most intimate friend.</p> +<p>The way in which this meeting came about has been familiar to +the readers of an autobiographical romance (not even yet +published!) wherein Borrow appears under the name of Dereham, and +Hake under the name of Gordon. But as some of these +passages in a modified form have appeared in print in an +introduction by Mr. Watts-Dunton to the edition of Borrow’s +‘Lavengro,’ published by Messrs. Ward, Lock & +Co., in 1893, there will be nothing incongruous in my quoting +them here:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Great as was the difference in age between +Gordon and me, there soon grew up an intimacy between us. +It has been my experience to learn that an enormous deal of +nonsense has been written about difference of age between friends +of either sex. At that time I do not think I had one +intimate friend of my own age except Rosamond, while I was on +terms of something like intimacy with two or three distinguished +men, each one of whom was certainly old enough to be my +father. Basevi was one of these: so was Lineham. I +daresay it was owing to some idiosyncrasy of mine, but the +intimacy between me and the young fellows with whom I was brought +into <a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>contact was mainly confined to matters connected with +field-sports. I found it far easier to be brought into +relations of close intimacy with women of my own age than with +men. But as Basevi told me that it was the same with +himself, I suppose that this was not an eccentricity after +all. When Gordon and I were together it never occurred to +me that there was any difference in our ages at all, and he told +me that it was the same with himself.</p> +<p>One day when I was sitting with him in his delightful house +near Roehampton, whose windows at the back looked over Richmond +Park, and in front over the wildest part of Wimbledon Common, one +of his sons came in and said that he had seen Dereham striding +across the common, evidently bound for the house.</p> +<p>‘Dereham!’ I said. ‘Is there a man in +the world I should so like to see as Dereham?’</p> +<p>And then I told Gordon how I had seen him years before +swimming in the sea off Yarmouth, but had never spoken to +him.</p> +<p>‘Why do you want so much to see him?’ asked +Gordon.</p> +<p>‘Well, among other things I want to see if he is a true +Child of the Open Air.’</p> +<p>Gordon laughed, perfectly understanding what I meant. +But it is necessary here to explain what that meaning was.</p> +<p>We both agreed that, with all the recent cultivation of the +picturesque by means of watercolour landscape, descriptive +novels, ‘Cook’s excursions,’ etc., the real +passion for Nature is as rare as ever it was—perhaps +rarer. It was, we believed, quite an affair of individual +temperament: it cannot be learned; it cannot be lost. That +no writer has ever tried to explain it shows how <a +name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>little it is +known. Often it has but little to do with poetry, little +with science. The poet, indeed, rarely has it at its very +highest; the man of science as rarely. I wish I could +define it. In human souls—in one, perhaps, as much as +in another—there is always that instinct for contact which +is a great factor of progress; there is always an irresistible +yearning to escape from isolation, to get as close as may be to +some other conscious thing. In most individuals this +yearning is simply for contact with other human souls; in some +few it is not. There are some in every country of whom it +is the blessing, not the bane that, owing to some exceptional +power, or to some exceptional infirmity, they can get closer to +‘Natura Benigna’ herself, closer to her whom we now +call ‘Inanimate Nature,’ than to brother, sister, +wife, or friend. Darwin among English savants, and Emily +Brontë among English poets, and Sinfi Lovell among English +gypsies, showed a good deal of the characteristics of the +‘Children of the Open Air.’ But in regard to +Darwin, besides the strength of his family ties, the pedantic +inquisitiveness, the methodizing pedantry of the man of science; +in Emily Brontë, the sensitivity to human contact; and in +Sinn Lovell, subjection to the love passion—disturbed, and +indeed partially stifled, the native instinct with which they +were undoubtedly endowed. I was perfectly conscious that I +belonged to the third case of Nature-worshippers—that is, I +was one of those who, howsoever strongly drawn to Nature and to a +free and unconventional life, felt the strength of the love +passion to such a degree that it prevented my claiming to be a +genuine Child of the Open Air.</p> +<p>Between the true ‘Children of the Open Air’ and +their fellows there are barriers of idiosyncrasy, barriers of +convention, or other barriers quite indefinable, which <a +name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>they find +most difficult to overpass, and, even when they succeed in +overpassing them, the attempt is not found to be worth the +making. For, what this kind of Nature-worshipper finds in +intercourse with his fellow-men is, not the unegoistic frankness +of Nature, his first love, inviting him to touch her close, soul +to soul—but another ego enisled like his +own—sensitive, shrinking, like his own—a soul which, +love him as it may, is, nevertheless, and for all its love, the +central ego of the universe to itself, the very Alcyone round +whom all other Nature-worshippers revolve like the rest of the +human constellations. But between these and Nature there is +no such barrier, and upon Nature they lavish their love, ‘a +most equal love’ that varies no more with her change of +mood than does the love of a man for a beautiful woman, whether +she smiles, or weeps, or frowns. To them a Highland glen is +most beautiful; so is a green meadow; so is a mountain gorge or a +barren peak; so is a South American savannah. A balmy +summer is beautiful, but not more beautiful than a winter’s +sleet beating about the face, and stinging every nerve into +delicious life.</p> +<p>To the ‘Child of the Open Air’ life has but few +ills; poverty cannot touch him. Let the Stock Exchange rob +him of his bonds, and he will go and tend sheep in Sacramento +Valley, perfectly content to see a dozen faces in a year; so far +from being lonely, he has got the sky, the wind, the brown grass, +and the sheep. And as life goes on, love of Nature grows, +both as a cultus and a passion, and in time Nature seems +‘to know him and love him’ in her turn.</p> +<p>Dereham entered, and, suddenly coming upon me, there was no +retreating, and we were introduced.</p> +<p>He tried to be as civil as possible, but evidently he was much +annoyed. Yet there was something in the <a +name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>very tone of +his voice that drew my heart to him, for to me he was the hero of +my boyhood still. My own shyness was being rapidly fingered +off by the rough handling of the world, but his retained all the +bloom of youth, and a terrible barrier it was; yet I attacked it +manfully. I knew from his books that Dereham had read but +little except in his own out-of-the-way directions; but then, +unfortunately, like all specialists, he considered that in these +his own special directions lay all the knowledge that was of any +value. Accordingly, what appeared to Dereham as the most +striking characteristic of the present age was its +ignorance. Unfortunately, too, I knew that for strangers to +talk of his own published books, or of gypsies, appeared to him +to be ‘prying,’ though there I should have been quite +at home. I knew, however, from his books that in the +obscure English pamphlet literature of the last century, +recording the sayings and doings of eccentric people and strange +adventures, Dereham was very learned, and I too chanced to be far +from ignorant in that direction. I touched on Bamfylde +Moore Carew, but without effect. Dereham evidently +considered that every properly educated man was familiar with the +story of Bamfylde Moore Carew in its every detail. Then I +touched upon beer, the British bruiser, ‘gentility +nonsense,’ and other ‘nonsense’; then upon +etymology—traced hoity-toityism to ‘toit,’ a +roof—but only to have my shallow philology dismissed with a +withering smile. I tried other subjects in the same +direction, but with small success, till in a lucky moment I +bethought myself of Ambrose Gwinett. There is a very scarce +eighteenth century pamphlet narrating the story of Ambrose +Gwinett, the man who, after having been hanged and gibbeted for +murdering a traveller with whom he had shared a double-bedded +room at a seaside <a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>inn, revived in the night, escaped from the +gibbet-irons, went to sea as a common sailor, and afterwards met +on a British man-of-war the very man he had been hanged for +murdering. The truth was that Gwinett’s supposed +victim, having been seized on the night in question with a +violent bleeding at the nose, had risen and left the house for a +few minutes’ walk in the sea-breeze, when the press-gang +captured him and bore him off to sea, where he had been in +service ever since. I introduced the subject of Ambrose +Gwinett, and Douglas Jerrold’s play upon it, and at once +the ice between us thawed and we became friends.</p> +<p>We all went out of the house and looked over the common. +It chanced that at that very moment there were a few gypsies +encamped on the sunken road opposite to Gordon’s +house. These same gypsies, by the by, form the subject of a +charming sketch by Herkomer which appeared in the +‘Graphic.’ Borrow took the trouble to assure us +that they were not of the better class of gypsies, the +gryengroes, but basket-makers. After passing this group we +went on the common. We did not at first talk much, but it +delighted me to see the mighty figure, strengthened by the years +rather than stricken by them, striding along between the whin +bushes or through the quags, now stooping over the water to pluck +the wild mint he loved, whose lilac-coloured blossoms perfumed +the air as he crushed them, now stopping to watch the water +wagtails by the ponds.</p> +<p>After the stroll we turned back and went, at Dereham’s +suggestion, for a ramble through Richmond Park, calling on the +way at the ‘Bald-Faced Stag’ in Kingston Vale, in +order that Dereham should introduce me to Jerry Abershaw’s +sword, which was one of the special <a name="page101"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 101</span>glories of that once famous +hostelry. A divine summer day it was I remember—a day +whose heat would have been oppressive had it not been tempered +every now and then by a playful silvery shower falling from an +occasional wandering cloud, whose slate-coloured body thinned at +the edges to a fringe of lace brighter than any silver.</p> +<p>These showers, however, seemed, as Dereham remarked, merely to +give a rich colour to the sunshine, and to make the wild flowers +in the meadows on the left breathe more freely. In a word, +it was one of those uncertain summer days whose peculiarly +English charm was Dereham’s special delight. He liked +rain, but he liked it falling on the green umbrella (enormous, +shaggy, like a gypsy-tent after a summer storm) he generally +carried. As we entered the Robin Hood Gate we were +confronted by a sudden weird yellow radiance, magical and +mysterious, which showed clearly enough that in the sky behind us +there was gleaming over the fields and over Wimbledon Common a +rainbow of exceptional brilliance, while the raindrops sparkling +on the ferns seemed answering every hue in the magic arch far +away. Dereham told us some interesting stories of Romany +superstition in connection with the rainbow—how, by making +a ‘trus’hul’ (cross) of two sticks, the Romany +chi who ‘pens the dukkerin can wipe the rainbow out of the +sky,’ etc. Whereupon Gordon, quite as original a man +as Dereham, and a humourist of a rarer temper, launched out into +a strain of wit and whim, which it is not my business here to +record, upon the subject of the ‘Spirit of the +Rainbow’ which I, as a child, went out to find.</p> +<p>Dereham loved Richmond Park, and he seemed to know every +tree. I found also that he was extremely learned in deer, +and seemed familiar with every dappled <a +name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>coat which, +washed and burnished by the showers, seemed to shine in the sun +like metal. Of course, I observed him closely, and I began +to wonder whether I had encountered, in the silvery-haired giant +striding by my side, with a vast umbrella under his arm, a true +‘Child of the Open Air.’</p> +<p>‘Did a true Child of the Open Air ever carry a gigantic +green umbrella that would have satisfied Sarah Gamp +herself?’ I murmured to Gordon, while Dereham lingered +under a tree and, looking round the Park, said in a dreamy way, +‘Old England! Old England!’</p> +<p>It was the umbrella, green, manifold and bulging, under +Dereham’s arm, that made me ask Gordon, as Dereham walked +along beneath the trees, ‘Is he a genuine Child of the Open +Air?’ And then, calling to mind the books he had +written, I said: ‘He went into the Dingle, and lived +alone—went there, not as an experiment in self-education, +as Thoreau went and lived by Walden Pond. He could enjoy +living alone, for the ‘horrors’ to which he was +occasionally subject did not spring from solitary living. +He was never disturbed by passion as was the Nature-worshipper +who once played such selfish tricks with Sinfi Lovell, and as +Emily Brontë would certainly have been had she been placed +in such circumstances as Charlotte Brontë placed +Shirley.’</p> +<p>‘But the most damning thing of all,’ said Gordon, +‘is that umbrella, gigantic and green: a painful thought +that has often occurred to me.’</p> +<p>‘Passion has certainly never disturbed his +nature-worship,’ said I. ‘So devoid of passion +is he that to depict a tragic situation is quite beyond his +powers. Picturesque he always is, powerful never. No +one reading an account of the privations of the hero of this +story finds himself able to realize from Dereham’s +description <a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>the misery of a young man tenderly reared, and with all +the pride of an East Anglian gentleman, living on bread and water +in a garret, with starvation staring him in the face. It is +not passion,’ I said to Gordon, ‘that prevents +Dereham from enjoying the peace of the Nature-worshipper. +It is Ambition! His books show that he could never cleanse +his stuffed bosom of the perilous stuff of ambition. To +become renowned, judging from many a peroration in his books, was +as great an incentive to Dereham to learn languages as to +Alexander Smith’s poet-hero it was an incentive to write +poetry.’</p> +<p>‘Ambition and the green gamp,’ said Gordon. +‘But look, the rainbow is fading from the sky without the +intervention of gypsy sorceries; and see how the ferns are +changing colour with the change in the light.’</p> +<p>But I soon found that if Dereham was not a perfect Child of +the Open Air, he was something better: a man of that deep +sympathy with human kind which the ‘Child of the Open +Air’ must needs lack.</p> +<p>Knowing Dereham’s extraordinary shyness and his great +dislike of meeting strangers, Gordon, while Dereham was trying to +get as close to the deer as they would allow, expressed to me his +surprise at the terms of cordial friendship that sprang up +between us during that walk. But I was not surprised: there +were several reasons why Dereham should at once take to +me—reasons that had nothing whatever to do with any +inherent attractiveness of my own.</p> +<p>By recalling what occurred I can throw a more brilliant light +upon Dereham’s character than by any kind of analytical +disquisition.</p> +<p>Two herons rose from the Ponds and flew away to where they +probably had their nests. By the expression <a +name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>on +Dereham’s face as he stood and gazed at them, I knew that, +like myself, he had a passion for herons.</p> +<p>‘Were there many herons around Whittlesea Mere before it +was drained?’ I said.</p> +<p>‘I should think so,’ said he dreamily, ‘and +every kind of water bird.’</p> +<p>Then, suddenly turning round upon me with a start, he said, +‘But how do you know that I knew Whittlesea +Mere?’</p> +<p>‘You say in one of your books that you played among the +reeds of Whittlesea Mere when you were a child.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t mention Whittlesea Mere in any of my +books,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘No,’ said I, ‘but you speak of a lake near +the old State prison at Norman Cross, and that was Whittlesea +Mere.’</p> +<p>‘Then you know Whittlesea Mere?’ said Dereham, +much interested.</p> +<p>‘I know the place that was Whittlesea Mere before it was +drained,’ I said, ‘and I know the vipers around +Norman Cross, and I think I know the lane where you first met +that gypsy you have immortalized. He was a generation +before my time. Indeed, I never was thrown much across the +Petulengroes in the Eastern Counties, but I knew some of the +Hernes and the Lees and the Lovells.’</p> +<p>I then told him what I knew about Romanies and vipers, and +also gave him Marcianus’s story about the Moors being +invulnerable to the viper’s bite, and about their putting +the true breed of a suspected child to the test by setting it to +grasp a viper—as he, Dereham, when a child, grasped one of +the vipers of Norman Cross.</p> +<p>‘The gypsies,’ said Dereham, ‘always +believed me <a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>to be a Romany. But surely you are not a Romany +Rye?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ I said, ‘but I am a student of +folk-lore; and besides, as it has been my fortune to see every +kind of life in England, high and low, I could not entirely +neglect the Romanies, could I?’</p> +<p>‘I should think not,’ said Dereham +indignantly.</p> +<p>‘But I hope you don’t know the literary class +among the rest.’</p> +<p>‘Gordon is my only link to that dark world,’ I +said, ‘and even you don’t object to Gordon. I +am purer than he, purer than you, from the taint of +printers’ ink.’</p> +<p>He laughed. ‘Who are you?’</p> +<p>‘The very question I have been asking myself ever since +I was a child in short frocks,’ I said, ‘and have +never yet found an answer. But Gordon agrees with me that +no well-bred soul should embarrass itself with any such +troublesome query.’</p> +<p>This gave a chance to Gordon, who in such local reminiscences +as these had been able to take no part. The humorous +mystery of Man’s personality had often been a subject of +joke between him and me in many a ramble in the Park and +elsewhere. At once he threw himself into a strain of +whimsical philosophy which partly amused and partly vexed +Dereham, who stood waiting to return to the subject of the +gypsies and East Anglia.</p> +<p>‘You are an Englishman?’ said Dereham.</p> +<p>‘Not only an Englishman, but an East Englishman,’ +I said, using a phrase of his own in one of his +books—‘if not a thorough East Anglian, an East +Midlander; who, you will admit, is nearly as good.’</p> +<p>‘Nearly,’ said Dereham.</p> +<p><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>And +when I went on to tell him that I once used to drive a genuine +‘Shales mare,’ a descendant of that same famous +Norfolk trotter who could trot fabulous miles an hour, to whom he +with the Norfolk farmers raised his hat in reverence at the +Norwich horse fair; and when I promised to show him a portrait of +this same East Anglian mare with myself behind her in a +dogcart—an East Anglian dogcart; when I praised the +stinging saltness of the sea water off Yarmouth, Lowestoft, and +Cromer, the quality which makes it the best, the most buoyant, +the most delightful of all sea-water to swim in; when I told him +that the only English river in which you could see reflected the +rainbow he loved was ‘the glassy Ouse’ of East +Anglia, and the only place in England where you could see it +reflected in the wet sand was the Norfolk coast; and when I told +him a good many things showing that I was in very truth, not only +an Englishman, but an East Englishman, my conquest of Dereham was +complete, and from that moment we became friends.</p> +<p>Gordon meanwhile stood listening to the rooks in the +distance. He turned and asked Dereham whether he had never +noticed a similarity between the kind of muffled rattling roar +made by the sea waves upon a distant pebbly beach and the sound +of a large rookery in the distance.</p> +<p>‘It is on sand alone,’ said Dereham, ‘that +the sea strikes its true music—Norfolk sand; a rattle is +not music.’</p> +<p>‘The best of the sea’s lutes,’ I said, +‘is made by the sands of Cromer.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>These famous walks with Borrow (or Dereham, as he is called in +the above quotation) in Richmond Park and <a +name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>the +neighbourhood, have been thus described by the +‘Gordon’ of the story in one of the sonnets in +‘The New Day’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>And he the walking lord of gipsy lore!<br /> + How often ’mid the deer that grazed the +park,<br /> +Or in the fields and heath and windy moor,<br /> + Made musical with many a soaring lark,<br /> +Have we not held brisk commune with him there,<br /> + While Lavengro, there towering by your side,<br /> +With rose complexion and bright silvery hair,<br /> + Would stop amid his swift and lounging stride<br /> +To tell the legends of the fading race—<br /> + As at the summons of his piercing glance,<br /> +Its story peopling his brown eyes and face,<br /> + While you called up that pendant of romance<br /> +To Petulengro with his boxing glory,<br /> +Your Amazonian Sinfi’s noble story!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ and in +Chambers’ ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature,’ and scattered through scores of articles in +the ‘Athenæum,’ I find descriptions of Borrow +and allusions to him without number. They afford absolutely +the only portrait of that wonderful man that exists or is ever +likely to exist. But, of course, it is quite impossible for +me to fill my pages with Borrow when there are so many more +important figures waiting to be introduced. Still, I must +find room for the most brilliant little Borrow scene of all, for +it will flush these pages with a colour which I feel they +need. Mr. Watts-Dunton has been described as the most +picturesque of all living writers, whether in verse or in prose, +and it is not for me to gainsay that judgment; but never, I +think, is he so picturesque as when he is writing about +Borrow.</p> +<p>I am not quite clear as to where the following picture of <a +name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>gypsy life +is to be localized; but the scenery seems to be that of the part +of England where East Anglia and the Midlands join. It adds +interest to the incident to know that the beautiful gypsy girl +was the prototype of Rhona Boswell, and that Dereham is George +Borrow. This also is a chapter from the unpublished story +before mentioned, which was afterwards modified to be used in an +introductory essay to another of Borrow’s books:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It was in the late summer, just before the +trees were clothed with what Dereham called ‘gypsy +gold,’ and the bright green of the foliage showed scarcely +a touch of bronze—at that very moment, indeed, when the +spirits of all the wild flowers that have left the commons and +the hedgerows seem to come back for an hour and mingle their +half-forgotten perfumes with the new breath of calamint, ground +ivy, and pimpernel. Dereham gave me as hearty a greeting as +so shy a man could give. He told me that he was bound for a +certain camp of gryengroes, old friends of his in his wandering +days. In conversation I reminded him of our previous talk, +and I told him I chanced at that very moment to have in my pocket +a copy of the volume of Matthew Arnold in which appears +‘The Scholar-Gypsy.’ Dereham said he well +remembered my directing his attention to ‘The +Scholar-Gypsy.’ After listening attentively to it, +Dereham declared that there was scarcely any latter-day poetry +worth reading, and also that, whatever the merits of Matthew +Arnold’s poem might be, from any supposed artistic point of +view, it showed that Arnold had no conception of the Romany +temper, and that no gypsy could sympathise with it, or even +understand its motive in the least degree. I challenged +this, contending that howsoever Arnold’s classic language +might soar above a gypsy’s <a name="page109"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 109</span>intelligence, the motive was so +clearly developed that the most illiterate person could grasp +it.</p> +<p>‘I wish,’ said Dereham, ‘you would come with +me to the camp and try the poem upon the first intelligent gypsy +woman we meet at the camp. As to gypsy men,’ said he, +‘they are too prosaic to furnish a fair test.’</p> +<p>We agreed, and as we were walking across the country Dereham +became very communicative, and talked very volubly upon +gentility-nonsense, and many other pet subjects of his. I +already knew that he was no lover of the aristocracy of England, +or, as he called them, the ‘trumpery great,’ although +in other regards he was such a John Bull. By this time we +had proceeded a good way on our little expedition. As we +were walking along, Dereham’s eyes, which were as +longsighted as a gypsy’s, perceived a white speck in a +twisted old hawthorn-bush some distance off. He stopped and +said: ‘At first I thought that white speck in the bush was +a piece of paper, but it’s a magpie,’—next to +the water-wagtail, the gypsies’ most famous bird. On +going up to the bush we discovered a magpie couched among the +leaves. As it did not stir at our approach, I said to him: +‘It is wounded—or else dying—or is it a tamed +bird escaped from a cage?’ ‘Hawk!’ said +Dereham laconically, and turned up his face and gazed into the +sky. ‘The magpie is waiting till the hawk has caught +his quarry and made his meal. I fancied he has himself been +‘chivvied’ by the hawk, as the gypsies would +say.’</p> +<p>And there, sure enough, beneath one of the silver clouds that +speckled the dazzling blue, a hawk—one of the kind which +takes its prey in the open rather than in the thick +woodlands—was wheeling up and up, trying its best to get +above a poor little lark in order to swoop at <a +name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>and devour +it. That the magpie had seen the hawk and had been a +witness of the opening of the tragedy of the lark was evident, +for in its dread of the common foe of all well-intentioned and +honest birds, it had forgotten its fear of all creatures except +the hawk. Man, in such a crisis as this, it looked upon as +a protecting friend.</p> +<p>As we were gazing at the bird a woman’s voice at our +elbows said,—</p> +<p>‘It’s lucky to chivvy the hawk what chivvies a +magpie. I shall stop here till the hawk’s flew +away.’</p> +<p>We turned round, and there stood a fine young gypsy woman, +carrying, gypsy fashion, a weakly child that in spite of its +sallow and wasted cheek proclaimed itself to be hers. By +her side stood a young gypsy girl. She was +beautiful—quite remarkably so—but her beauty was not +of the typical Romany kind. It was, as I afterwards +learned, more like the beauty of a Capri girl.</p> +<p>She was bareheaded—there was not even a gypsy +handkerchief on her head—her hair was not plaited, and was +not smooth and glossy like a gypsy girl’s hair, but flowed +thick and heavy and rippling down the back of her neck and upon +her shoulders. In the tumbled tresses glittered certain +objects, which at first sight seemed to be jewels. They +were small dead dragonflies, of the crimson kind called +‘sylphs.’</p> +<p>To Dereham these gypsies were evidently well known. The +woman with the child was one of the Boswells; I dare not say what +was her connection, if any, with ‘Boswell the +Great’—I mean Sylvester Boswell, the grammarian and +‘well-known and popalated gypsy of Codling Gap,’ who, +on a memorable occasion, wrote so eloquently about the +superiority of the gypsy mode of life to all others, ‘on +the accont of health, sweetness of air, and for enjoying the +pleasure of Nature’s life.’</p> +<p><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>Dereham told me in a whisper that her name was +Perpinia, and that the other gypsy, the girl of the dragon-flies, +was the famous beauty of the neighbourhood—Rhona Boswell, +of whom many stories had reached him with regard to Percy Aylwin, +a relative of Rosamond’s father.</p> +<p>After greeting the two, Dereham looked at the weakling child +with the deepest interest, and said to the mother: ‘This +chavo ought not to look like that—with such a mother as +you, Perpinia.’ ‘And with such a daddy, +too,’ said she. ‘Mike’s stronger for a +man nor even I am for a woman’—a glow of wifely pride +passing over her face; ‘and as to good looks, it’s +him as has got the good looks, not me. But none on us +can’t make it out about the chavo. He’s so weak +and sick he don’t look as if he belonged to Boswell’s +breed at all.’</p> +<p>‘How many pipes of tobacco do you smoke in a day?’ +said I, looking at the great black cutty pipe protruding from +Perpinia’s finely cut lips, and seeming strangely out of +place there.</p> +<p>‘Can’t say,’ said she, laughing.</p> +<p>‘About as many as she can afford to buy,’ +interrupted ‘the beauty of the Ouse,’ as Rhona +Boswell was called. ‘That’s all. Mike +don’t like her a-smokin’. He says it makes her +look like a old Londra Irish woman in Common Garding +Market.’</p> +<p>‘You must not smoke another pipe,’ said I to the +mother—‘not another pipe till the child leaves the +breast.’</p> +<p>‘What?’ said Perpinia defiantly. ‘As +if I could live without my pipe!’</p> +<p>‘Fancy Pep a-living without her baccy!’ laughed +Rhona.</p> +<p>‘Your child can’t live with it,’ said I to +Perpinia. ‘That pipe of yours is full of a poison +called nicotine.’</p> +<p><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>‘Nick what?’ said Rhona, laughing. +‘That’s a new kind of nick. Why, you smoke +yourself!’</p> +<p>‘Nicotine,’ said I. ‘And the first +part of Pep’s body that the poison gets into is her breast, +and—’</p> +<p>‘Gets into my burk,’ <a name="citation112"></a><a +href="#footnote112" class="citation">[112]</a> said +Perpinia. ‘Get along wi’ ye.’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Do it pison Pep’s milk?’ said Rhona.</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘That ain’t true,’ said +Perpinia—‘can’t be true.’</p> +<p>‘It is true,’ said I. ‘If you +don’t give up that pipe for a time, the child will die, or +else be a ricketty thing all his life. If you do give it +up, it will grow up to be as fine a gypsy as ever your husband +can be.’</p> +<p>‘Chavo agin pipe, Pep!’ said Rhona.</p> +<p>‘Lend me your pipe, Perpinia,’ said Dereham, in +that hail-fellow-well-met tone of his, which he reserved for the +Romanies—a tone which no Romany could ever resist. +And he took it gently from the woman’s lips. +‘Don’t smoke any more till I come to the camp and see +the chavo again.’</p> +<p>‘He be’s a good friend to the Romanies,’ +said Rhona, in an appeasing tone.</p> +<p>‘That’s true,’ said the woman; ‘but +he’s no business to take my pipe out o’ my mouth for +all that.’</p> +<p>She soon began to smile again, however, and let Dereham retain +the pipe. Dereham and I then moved away towards the dusty +high-road leading to the camp, and were joined by Rhona. +Perpinia remained, keeping guard over the magpie that was to +bring luck to the sinking child.</p> +<p>It was determined now that Rhona was the very <a +name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>person to +be used as the test-critic of the Romany mind upon Arnold’s +poem, for she was exceptionally intelligent. So instead of +going to the camp, the oddly assorted little party of three +struck across the ferns, gorse, and heather towards +‘Kingfisher brook,’ and when we reached it we sat +down on a fallen tree.</p> +<p>Nothing, as afterwards I came to know, delights a gypsy girl +so much, in whatever country she may be born, as to listen to a +story either told or read to her, and when I pulled my book from +my pocket the gypsy girl began to clap her hands. Her +anticipation of enjoyment sent over her face a warm glow.</p> +<p>Her complexion, though darker than an English girl’s, +was rather lighter than an ordinary gypsy’s. Her eyes +were of an indescribable hue; but an artist who has since then +painted her portrait for me, described it as a mingling of pansy +purple and dark tawny. The pupils were so large that, being +set in the somewhat almond-shaped and long-eyelashed lids of her +race, they were partly curtained both above and below, and this +had the peculiar effect of making the eyes seem always a little +contracted and just about to smile. The great size and deep +richness of the eyes made the straight little nose seem smaller +than it really was; they also lessened the apparent size of the +mouth, which, red as a rosebud, looked quite small until she +laughed, when the white teeth made quite a wide glitter.</p> +<p>Before three lines of the poem had been read she jumped up and +cried, ‘Look at the Devil’s needles! +They’re come to sew my eyes up for killing their +brothers.’</p> +<p>And surely enough a gigantic dragon-fly, whose body-armour of +sky blue and jet black, and great lace-woven wings, shining like +a rainbow gauze, caught the sun as he <a name="page114"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 114</span>swept dazzling by, did really seem +to be attracted either by the wings of his dead brothers or by +the lights shed from the girl’s eyes.</p> +<p>‘I dussn’t set here,’ said she. +‘Us Romanies call this ‘Dragon-fly +Brook.’ And that’s the king o’ the +dragon-flies: he lives here.’</p> +<p>As she rose she seemed to be surrounded by dragon-flies of +about a dozen different species of all sizes, some crimson, some +bronze, some green and gold, whirling and dancing round her as if +they meant to justify their Romany name and sew up the +girl’s eyes.</p> +<p>‘The Romanies call them the Devil’s +needles,’ said Dereham; ‘their business is to sew up +pretty girls’ eyes.’</p> +<p>In a second, however, they all vanished, and the girl after a +while sat down again to listen to the ‘lil,’ as she +called the story.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p114b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A Letter Box on the Broads. (From an Oil Painting at ‘The +Pines.’)" +title= +"A Letter Box on the Broads. (From an Oil Painting at ‘The +Pines.’)" +src="images/p114s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<blockquote><p>Glanville’s prose story, upon which +Arnold’s poem is based, was read first. In this Rhona +was much interested. But when I went on to read to her +Arnold’s poem, though her eyes flashed now and then at the +lovely bits of description—for the country about Oxford is +quite remarkably like the country in which she was born—she +looked sadly bewildered, and then asked to have it all read +again. After a second reading she said in a meditative way: +‘Can’t make out what the lil’s all +about—seems all about nothink! Seems to me that the +pretty sights what makes a Romany fit to jump out o’ her +skin for joy makes this ’ere gorgio want to cry. What +a rum lot gorgios is surely!’</p> +<p>And then she sprang up and ran off towards the camp with the +agility of a greyhound, turning round every few moments, +pirouetting and laughing aloud.</p> +<p><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>‘Let’s go to the camp!’ said +Dereham. ‘That was all true about the +nicotine—was it not?’</p> +<p>‘Partly, I think,’ said I, ‘but not being a +medical man I must not be too emphatic. If it is true it +ought to be a criminal offence for any woman to smoke in excess +while she is suckling a child.’</p> +<p>‘Say it ought to be a criminal offence for a woman to +smoke at all,’ growled Dereham. ‘Fancy kissing +a woman’s mouth that smelt of stale +tobacco—pheugh!’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>After giving these two delightful descriptions of Borrow and +his environment, I will now quote Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +description of their last meeting:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The last time I ever saw Borrow was shortly +before he left London to live in the country. It was, I +remember well, on Waterloo Bridge, where I had stopped to gaze at +a sunset of singular and striking splendour, whose gorgeous +clouds and ruddy mists were reeling and boiling over the West +End. Borrow came up and stood leaning over the parapet, +entranced by the sight, as well he might be. Like most +people born in flat districts, he had a passion for +sunsets. Turner could not have painted that one, I think, +and certainly my pen could not describe it; for the London smoke +was flushed by the sinking sun and had lost its dunness, and, +reddening every moment as it rose above the roofs, steeples, and +towers, it went curling round the sinking sun in a rosy vapour, +leaving, however, just a segment of a golden rim, which gleamed +as dazzlingly as in the thinnest and clearest air—a +peculiar effect which struck Borrow deeply. I never saw +such a sunset before or since, not even on Waterloo Bridge; and +from its association with ‘the last of Borrow’ I +shall never forget it.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page116"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 116</span>A TALK ON WATERLOO BRIDGE<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Last Sight of George Borrow</span></p> +<blockquote><p>We talked of ‘Children of the Open +Air,’<br /> + Who once on hill and valley lived aloof,<br /> + Loving the sun, the wind, the sweet reproof<br /> +Of storms, and all that makes the fair earth fair,<br /> +Till, on a day, across the mystic bar<br /> + Of moonrise, came the ‘Children of the +Roof,’<br /> + Who find no balm ’neath evening’s +rosiest woof,<br /> +Nor dews of peace beneath the Morning Star.</p> +<p>We looked o’er London where men wither and choke,<br /> + Roofed in, poor souls, renouncing stars and +skies,<br /> + And lore of woods and wild wind-prophecies—<br +/> +Yea, every voice that to their fathers spoke:<br /> +And sweet it seemed to die ere bricks and smoke<br /> + Leave never a meadow outside Paradise.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>While the noble music of this double valediction in poetry and +prose is sounding in our ears, my readers and I, ‘with +wandering steps and slow,’ may also fitly take our +reluctant leave of George Borrow.</p> +<h2><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>Chapter X<br /> +THE ACTED DRAMA</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was during the famous evenings +in Dr. Marston’s house at Chalk Farm that Mr. Watts-Dunton +was for the first time brought into contact with the theatrical +world. I do not know that he was ever closely connected +with that world, but in the set in which he specially moved at +this time he seems to have been almost the only one who was a +regular playgoer and first-nighter, for Rossetti’s +playgoing days were nearly over, and Mr. Swinburne never was a +playgoer. Mr. Watts-Dunton still takes, as may be seen in +his sonnet to Ellen Terry, which I shall quote, a deep interest +in the acted drama and in the acting profession, although of late +years he has not been much seen at the theatres. When, +after a while, he and Minto were at work on the +‘Examiner’ Mr. Watts-Dunton occasionally, although I +think rarely, wrote a theatrical critique for that paper. +The only one I have had an opportunity of reading is upon Miss +Neilson—not the Miss Julia Neilson who is so much admired +in our day; but the powerful, dark-eyed creole-looking beauty, +Lilian Adelaide Neilson, who, after being a mill-hand and a +barmaid, became a famous tragedian, and made a great impression +in Juliet, and in impassioned poetical parts of that kind. +The play in which she appeared on that occasion was a play by Tom +Taylor, called ‘Anne <a name="page118"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 118</span>Boleyn,’ in which Miss Neilson +took the part of the heroine. It was given at the Haymarket +in February 1876. I do not remember reading any criticism +in which so much admirable writing—acute, brilliant, and +learned—was thrown away upon so mediocre a play. Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s remarks upon Miss Neilson’s acting +were, however, not thrown away, for the subject seems to have +been fully worthy of them; and I, who love the acted drama +myself, regret that the actress’s early death in 1880, +robbed me of the pleasure of seeing her. She was one of the +actresses whom Mr. Watts-Dunton used to meet on Sunday evenings +at Marston’s, and I have heard him say that her genius was +as apparent in her conversation as in her acting. Miss +Corkran has recently sketched one of these meetings, and has +given us a graphic picture of Mr. Watts-Dunton there, contrasting +his personal appearance with that of Mr. Swinburne. They +must indeed have been delightful gatherings to a lover of the +theatre, for there Miss Neilson, Miss Glyn, Miss Ada Cavendish, +and others were to be met—met in the company of Irving, +Sothern, Hermann Vezin, and many another famous actor.</p> +<p>That Mr. Watts-Dunton had a peculiar insight into histrionic +art was shown by what occurred on his very first appearance at +the Marston evenings, whither he was taken by his friend, Dr. +Gordon Hake, who used to tell the following story with great +humour; and Rossetti also used to repeat it with still greater +gusto. I am here again indebted to his son, Mr. +Hake—who was also a friend of Dr. Marston, Ada Cavendish, +and others—for interesting reminiscences of these Marston +evenings which have never been published. Mr. Watts-Dunton +at that time was, of course, quite unknown, except in a very +small circle of literary men and artists. <a +name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>Three or +four dramatic critics, several poets, and two actresses, one of +whom was Ada Cavendish, were talking about Irving in ‘The +Bells,’ which was a dramatization by a writer named Leopold +Lewis of the ‘Juif Polonais’ of +Erckmann-Chatrian. They were all enthusiastically extolling +Irving’s acting; and this is not surprising, as all will +say who have seen him in the part. But while some were +praising the play, others were running it down. “What +I say,” said one of the admirers, “is that the motif +of ‘The Bells,’ the use of the idea of a sort of +embodied conscience to tell the audience the story and bring +about the catastrophe, is the newest that has appeared in drama +or fiction—it is entirely original.”</p> +<p>“Not entirely, I think,” said a voice which, until +that evening, was new in the circle. They turned round to +listen to what the dark-eyed young stranger, tanned by the sun to +a kind of gypsy colour, who looked like William Black, quietly +smoking his cigarette, had to say.</p> +<p>“Not entirely new?” said one. “Who was +the originator, then, of the idea?”</p> +<p>“I can’t tell you that,” said the +interrupting voice, “for it occurs in a very old Persian +story, and it was evidently old even then. But +Erckmann-Chatrian took it from a much later story-teller. +They adapted it from Chamisso.”</p> +<p>“Is that the author of ‘Peter +Schlemihl’?” said one.</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Mr. Watts-Dunton, “but +Chamisso was a poet before he was a prose writer, and he wrote a +rhymed story in which the witness of a murder was the sunrise, +and at dawn the criminal was affected in the same way that +Matthias is affected by the sledge bells. The idea that the +sensorium, in an otherwise perfectly sane brain, can translate +sights and sound into accusations <a name="page120"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 120</span>of a crime is, of course, perfectly +true, and in the play it is wonderfully given by +Irving.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Dr. Marston, “that is the best +account I have yet heard of the origin of ‘The +Bells.’”</p> +<p>Then the voice of one of the disparagers of the play said: +“There you are! The very core of +Erckmann-Chatrian’s story and Lewis’s play has been +stolen and spoilt from another writer. The acting, as I +say, is superb—the play is rot.”</p> +<p>“Well, I do not think so,” said Mr. +Watts-Dunton. “I think it a new and a striking +play.”</p> +<p>“Will you give your reasons, sir?” said Dr. +Marston, in that old-fashioned courtly way which was one of his +many charms.</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “if it +will be of any interest. You recollect Coleridge’s +remarks upon expectation and surprise in drama. I think it +a striking play because I cannot recall any play in which the +entire source of interest is that of pure expectation +unadulterated by surprise. From the opening dialogue, +before ever the burgomaster appears, the audience knows that a +murder has been committed, and that the murderer must be the +burgomaster, and yet the audience is kept in breathless suspense +through pure expectation as to whether or not the crime will be +brought home to him, and if brought home to him, how.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the voice of one of the admirers of +the play, “that is the best criticism of ‘The +Bells’ I have yet heard.” After this the +conversation turned upon Jefferson’s acting of Rip Van +Winkle, and many admirable remarks fell from a dozen lips. +When there was a pause in these criticisms, Dr. Marston turned to +Mr. Watts-Dunton and said, “Have you seen Jefferson in +‘Rip van Winkle,’ sir?”</p> +<p><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>“Yes, indeed,” was the reply, “many +times; and I hope to see it many more times. It is +wonderful. I think it lucky that I have been able to see +the great exemplar of what may be called the Garrick type of +actor, and the great exemplar of what may be called the Edmund +Kean type of actor.”</p> +<p>On being asked what he meant by this classification, Mr. +Watts-Dunton launched out into one of those wide-sweeping but +symmetrical monologues of criticism in which beginning, middle, +and end, were as perfectly marked as though the improvization had +been a well-considered essay—the subject being the style of +acting typified by Garrick and the style of acting typified by +Robson. As this same idea runs through Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s criticism of Got in ‘Le Roi +s’Amuse’ (which I shall quote later), there is no +need to dwell upon it here.</p> +<p>“As an instance,” he said, “of +Jefferson’s supreme power in this line of acting, one might +refer to Act II. of the play, where Rip mounts the Catskill +Mountains in the company of the goblins. Rip talks with the +goblins one after the other, and there seems to be a dramatic +dialogue going on. It is not till the curtain falls that +the audience realizes that every word spoken during that act came +from the lips of Rip, so entirely have Jefferson’s facial +expression and intonation dramatized each goblin.”</p> +<p>Between Mr. Watts-Dunton and our great Shakespearean actress, +Ellen Terry, there has been an affectionate friendship running +over nearly a quarter of a century. This is not at all +surprising to one who knows Miss Terry’s high artistic +taste and appreciation of poetry. Among the poems +expressing that friendship, none is more pleasing than the sonnet +that appeared in <a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>the ‘Magazine of Art’ to which Mr. Bernard +Partridge contributed his superb drawing of Miss Terry in the +part of Queen Katherine. It is entitled, ‘Queen +Katherine: on seeing Miss Ellen Terry as Katherine in King Henry +VIII’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Seeking a tongue for tongueless shadow-land,<br /> + Has Katherine’s soul come back with power to +quell<br /> + A sister-soul incarnate, and compel<br /> +Its bodily voice to speak by Grief’s command?<br /> +Or is it Katherine’s self returns to stand<br /> + As erst she stood defying Wolsey’s +spell—<br /> + Returns with those vile wrongs she fain would +tell<br /> +Which memory bore to Eden’s amaranth strand?</p> +<p>Or is it thou, dear friend—this Queen, whose face<br /> + The salt of many tears hath scarred and +stung?—<br /> + Can it be thou, whose genius, ever young,<br /> +Lighting the body with the spirit’s grace,<br /> +Is loved by England—loved by all the race<br /> + Round all the world enlinked by Shakespeare’s +tongue!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With one exception I do not find any dramatic criticisms by +Mr. Watts-Dunton in the ‘Athenæum.’ +Indeed, I should not expect to find him trenching upon the domain +of the greatest dramatic critic of our time, Mr. Joseph +Knight. No one speaks with greater admiration of Mr. Knight +than his friend of thirty years’ standing, Mr. Watts-Dunton +himself; and when an essay on ‘King John’ was +required for the series of Shakespeare essays to accompany Mr. +Edwin Abbey’s famous illustrations in ‘Harper’s +Magazine,’ it was Mr. Knight whom Mr. Watts-Dunton invited +to discuss this important play. The exception I allude to +is the criticism of Victor Hugo’s ‘Le Roi +s’Amuse,’ which appeared in the +‘Athenæum’ of December 2, 1882.</p> +<p>The way in which it came about that Mr. Watts-Dunton <a +name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>undertook +for the ‘Athenæum’ so important a piece of +dramatic criticism is interesting. In 1882 M. Vacquerie, +the editor of ‘Le Rappel,’ a relative of +Hugo’s, and a great friend of Mr. Swinburne and Mr. +Watts-Dunton, together with other important members of the Hugo +cenacle, determined to get up a representation of ‘Le Roi +s’Amuse’ on the jubilee of its first representation, +since when it had never been acted. Vacquerie sent two +fauteuils, one for Mr. Swinburne and one for Mr. Watts-Dunton; +and the two poets were present at that memorable +representation. Long before the appointed day there was on +the Continent, from Paris to St. Petersburg, an unprecedented +demand for seats; for it was felt that this was the most +interesting dramatic event that had occurred for fifty years.</p> +<p>Consequently the editor of the ‘Athenæum’ +for once invited his chief literary contributor to fill the post +which the dramatic editor of the paper, Mr. Joseph Knight, +generously yielded to him for the occasion, and the following +article appeared:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“Paris, November +23, 1882.</p> +<p>“I felt that the revival, at the Theatre +Français, of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ on the +fiftieth anniversary of its original production, must be one of +the most interesting literary events of our time, and so I found +it to be. Victor Hugo was there, sitting with his arms +folded across his breast, calm but happy, in a stage box. +He expressed himself satisfied and even delighted with the +acting. The poet’s appearance was fuller of vitality +and more Olympian than ever. Between the acts he left the +theatre and walked about in the square, leaning on the arm of his +illustrious poet friend and family connection, Auguste <a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>Vacquerie, +to whose kindness I was indebted for a seat in the fauteuils +d’orchestre, which otherwise I should have found to be +quite unattainable, so unprecedented was the demand for +places. It is said that a thousand francs were given for a +seat. Never before was seen, even in a French theatre, an +audience so brilliant and so illustrious. I did not, +however, see any English face I knew save that of Mr. Swinburne, +who at the end of the third act might have been seen talking to +Hugo in his box. Among the most appreciative and +enthusiastic of those who assisted at the representation was the +French poet, who perhaps in the nineteenth century stands next to +Hugo for intellectual massiveness, M. Leconte de Lisle. And +I should say that every French poet and indeed every man of +eminence was there.</p> +<p>Considering the extraordinary nature of the piece, the cast +was perhaps as satisfactory as could have been hoped for. +Fond as is M. Hugo of spectacular effects, and even of coups de +théâtre, no other dramatist gives so little +attention as he to the idiosyncrasies of actors. It is easy +to imagine that Shakespeare in writing his lines was not always +unmindful of an actor like Burbage. But in depicting +Triboulet, Hugo must have thought as little about the +specialities of Ligier, who took the part on the first night in +1832, as of the future Got, who was to take it on the second +night in 1882. And the same may be said of Blanche in +relation to the two actresses who successively took that +part. This is, I think, exactly the way in which a +dramatist should work. The contrary method is not more +ruinous to drama as a literary form than to the actor’s +art. To write up to an actor’s style destroys all +true character-drawing; also it ends by writing up to the +actor’s mere manner, who from that moment is, as an artist, +doomed. On the whole, the <a name="page125"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 125</span>performance wanted more glow and +animal spirits. The François I of M. Mounet-Sully +was full of verve, but this actor’s voice is so exceedingly +rich and emotional that the king seemed more poetic, and hence +more sympathetic to the audience, than was consistent with a +character who in a sense is held up as the villain of the +piece. The true villain, here, however, as in +‘Torquemada,’ ‘Notre Dame de Paris,’ +‘Les Misérables,’ and, indeed, in all +Hugo’s characteristic works, is not an individual at all, +but Circumstance. Circumstance placed Francis, a young and +pleasure-loving king, over a licentious court. Circumstance +gave him a court jester with a temper which, to say the least of +it, was peculiar for such times as those. Circumstance, +acting through the agency of certain dissolute courtiers, thrust +into the king’s very bedroom the girl whom he loved and who +belonged to a class from whom he had been taught to expect +subservience of every kind. The tragic mischief of the rape +follows almost as a necessary consequence. Add to this the +fact that Circumstance contrives that the girl Maguelonne, +instead of aiding her more conscientious brother in killing the +disguised king at the bidding of ‘the client who +pays,’ falls unexpectedly in love with him; while +Circumstance also contrives that Blanche shall be there ready at +the very spot at the very moment where and when she is +imperatively wanted as a substituted victim;—and you get +the entire motif of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse’—man +enmeshed in a web of circumstance, the motif of ‘Notre Dame +de Paris,’ the motif of ‘Torquemada,’ and, in a +certain deep sense, perhaps the proper motif in romantic +drama. For when the vis matrix of classic drama, the +supernatural interference of conscious Destiny, was no longer +available to the artist, something akin to it—something +nobler and more powerful than <a name="page126"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 126</span>the stage villain—was found to +be necessary to save tragedy from sinking into melodrama. +And this explains so many of the complexities of Shakespeare.</p> +<p>In the dramas of Victor Hugo, however, the romantic temper has +advanced quite as far as it ought to advance not only in the use +of Circumstance as the final cause of the tragic mischief, but in +the use of the grotesque in alliance with the terrible. The +greatest masters of the terrible-grotesque till we get to the +German romanticists were the English dramatists of the sixteenth +and the early portion of the seventeenth century, and of course +by far the greatest among these was Shakespeare. For the +production of the effect in question there is nothing comparable +to the scenes in ‘Lear’ between the king and the +fool—scenes which seem very early in his life to have +struck Hugo more than anything else in literature. Outside +the Elizabethan dramatists, however, there can be no doubt that +(leaving out of the discussion the great German masters in this +line) Hugo is the greatest worker in the terrible-grotesque that +has appeared since Burns. I need only point to Quasimodo +and Triboulet and compare them not merely with such attempts in +this line as those of writers like Beddoes, but even with the +magnificent work of Mr. Browning, who though far more subtle than +Hugo is without his sublimity and amazing power over +chiaroscuro. Now, the most remarkable feature of the +revival of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ and that which +made me above all other reasons desirous to see it, was that the +character of Triboulet was to be rendered by an actor of rare and +splendid genius, but who, educated in the genteel comedy of +modern France and also in the social subtleties of +Molière, seemed the last man in Paris to give that +peculiar expression of the romantic temper which I have called +the terrible-grotesque.</p> +<p><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>That +M. Got’s success in a part so absolutely unsuited to him +should have been as great as it was is, in my judgment, the +crowning success of his life. It is as though Thackeray, +after completing ‘Philip,’ had set himself to write a +romance in the style of ‘Notre Dame de Paris,’ and +succeeded in the attempt. Yet the success of M. Got was +relative only, I think. The Triboulet was not the Triboulet +of the reader’s own imaginings, but an admirable Triboulet +of the Comédie Française. Perhaps, however, +the truth is that there is not an actor in Europe who could +adequately render such a character as Triboulet.</p> +<p>This is what I mean: all great actors are divisible into two +groups, which are by temperament and endowment the exact +opposites of each other. There are those who, like Garrick, +producing their effects by means of a self-dominance and a +conservation of energy akin to that of Goethe in poetry, are able +to render a character, coldly indeed, but with matchless +verisimilitude in its every nuance. And there are those +who, like Edmund Kean and Robson, ‘live’ in the +character so entirely that self-dominance and conservation of +energy are not possible, and who, whensoever the situation +becomes very intense, work miracles of representation by sheer +imaginative abandon, but do so at the expense of that delicacy of +light and shade in the entire conception which is the great quest +of the actor as an artist. And if it should be found that +in order to render Triboulet there is requisite for the more +intense crises of the piece the abandon of Kean and Robson, and +at the same time, for the carrying on of the play, the calm, +self-conscious staying power of Garrick, the conclusion will be +obvious that Triboulet is essentially an unactable +character. I will illustrate this by an instance. The +reader will remember that in <a name="page128"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 128</span>the third act of ‘Le Roi +s’Amuse,’ Triboulet’s daughter Blanche, after +having been violated by the king at the Louvre, rushes into the +antechamber, where stands her father surrounded by the group of +sneering courtiers who, unknown both to the king and to +Triboulet, have abducted her during the night and set her in the +king’s way. When the girl tells her father of the +terrible wrong that has been done to her, he passes at once from +the mood of sardonic defiance which was natural to him into a +state of passion so terrible that a sudden and magical effect is +produced: the conventional walls between him, the poor despised +court jester, and the courtiers, are suddenly overthrown by the +unexpected operation of one of those great human instincts which +make the whole world kin:—</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Triboulet</span> (faisant trois pas, et +balayant du geste tous les seigneurs inter dits).</p> +<p> Allez-vous-en d’ici!<br /> +Et, si le roi François par malheur se hasarde<br /> +A passer près d’ici, (à Monsieur de +Vermandois) vous êtes de sa garde,<br /> +Dites-lui de ne pas entrer,—que je suis là.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">M. de Pienne</span>. On n’a +jamais rien vu de fou comme cela.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">M. de Gordes</span> (lui faisant signe de +se retirer). Aux fous comme aux enfants on cède +quelque chose.</p> +<p>Veillons pourtant, de peur d’accident.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[Ils sortent.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Triboulet</span> (s’asseyant sur le +fauteuil du roi et relevant sa fille.) Allons, cause.<br /> +Dis-moi tout. (Il se retourne, et, apercevant Monsieur de +Cossé, qui est resté, il se lève à +demi en lui montrant la porte). M’avez-vous en tendu, +monseigneur?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">M. De Cossé</span> (tout en se +retirant comme subjugué par l’ascendant du +bouffon). Ces fous, cela se croit tout permis, en +honneur!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[Il sort.</p> +<p>Now in reading ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ startling +as is the situation, it does not seem exaggerated, for Victor +Hugo’s lines are adequate in simple passion to effect the +dramatic work, and the reader feels that Triboulet was wrought up +to the state of exaltation to which the lines give expression, <a +name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>that +nothing could resist him, and that the proud courtiers must in +truth have cowered before him in the manner here indicated by the +dramatist. In literature the artist does not actualize; he +suggests, and leaves the reader’s imagination free. +But an actor has to actualize this state of exaltation—he +has to bring the physical condition answering to the emotional +condition before the eyes of the spectator; and if he fails to +display as much of the ‘fine frenzy’ of passion as is +requisite to cow and overawe a group of cynical worldlings, the +situation becomes forced and unnatural, inasmuch as they are +overawed without a sufficient cause. That an actor like +Robson could and would have risen to such an occasion no one will +doubt who ever saw him (for he was the very incarnation of the +romantic temper), but then the exhaustion would have been so +great that it would have been impossible for him to go on bearing +the entire weight of this long play as M. Got does. The +actor requires, as I say, the abandon characteristic of one kind +of histrionic art together with the staying power characteristic +of another. Now, admirable as is M. Got in this and in all +scenes of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ he does not pass +into such a condition of exalted passion as makes the retirement +of the courtiers seem probable. For artistic perfection +there was nothing in the entire representation that surpassed the +scenes between Saltabadil and Maguelonne in the hovel on the +banks of the Seine. It would be difficult, indeed, to +decide which was the more admirable, the Saltabadil of M. Febvre +or the Maguelonne of Jeanne Samary.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">AT THE THÉÂTRE +FRANÇAIS<br /> +<span class="smcap">November</span> 22, 1882</p> +<p>Poet of pity and scourge of sceptred crime—<br /> + Titan of light, with scarce the gods for +peers—<br /> + <a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>What thoughts come to thee through the mist of +years,<br /> +There sitting calm, master of Fate and Time?<br /> +Homage from every tongue, from every clime,<br /> + In place of gibes, fills now thy satiate ears.<br /> + Mine own heart swells, mine eyelids prick with +tears<br /> +In very pride of thee, old man sublime!</p> +<p>And thou, the mother who bore him, beauteous France,<br /> + Round whose fair limbs what web of sorrow is +spun!—<br /> +I see thee lift thy tear-stained countenance—<br /> + Victress by many a victory he hath won;<br /> +I hear thy voice o’er winds of Fate and Chance<br /> + Say to the conquered world: ‘Behold my +son!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I may mention here that Mr. Watts-Dunton has always shown the +greatest admiration of the actor’s art and the greatest +interest in actors and actresses. He has affirmed that +‘the one great art in which women are as essential as +men—the one great art in which their place can never be +supplied by men—is in the acted drama, which the Greeks +held in such high esteem that Æschylus and Sophocles acted +as stage managers and show-masters, although the stage mask +dispensed with much of the necessity of calling in the aid of +women.’</p> +<p>‘Great as is the importance of female poets,’ says +Mr. Watts-Dunton, ‘men are so rich in endowment, that +literature would be a worthy expression of the human mind if +there had been no Sappho and no Emily Brontë—no Mrs. +Browning—no Christina Rossetti. Great as is the +importance of female novelists, men again are so rich in +endowment that literature would be a worthy expression of the +human mind if there had been no Georges Sand, no Jane Austen, no +Charlotte Brontë, no George Eliot, no Mrs. Gaskell, no Mrs. +Craigie. As to painting and music, up to now women have not +been notable workers in either of these departments, +notwithstanding <a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>Rosa Bonheur and one or two others. But, to say +nothing of France, what in England would have been the acted +drama, whether in prose or verse, without Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. +Hermann Vezin, Adelaide Neilson, Miss Glyn, in tragedy; without +Mrs. Bracegirdle, Kitty Clive, Julia Neilson, Ellen Terry, Irene +Vanbrugh and Ada Rehan in comedy?’</p> +<p>People who run down actresses should say at once that the +acted drama is not one of the fine arts at all. Mr. +Watts-Dunton has often expressed the opinion that there is in +England a great waste of histrionic endowment among women, owing +to the ignorant prejudice against the stage which even now is +prevalent in England. ‘An enormous waste of +force,’ says he, ‘there is, of course, in other +departments of intellectual activity, but nothing like the waste +of latent histrionic powers among Englishwomen.’ And +he supplies many examples of this which have come under his own +observation, among which I can mention only one.</p> +<p>‘Some years ago,’ he said to me, ‘I was +invited to go to see the performance of a French play given by +the pupils of a fashionable school in the West End of +London. Apart from the admirable French accent of the girls +I was struck by the acting of two or three performers who showed +some latent dramatic talent. I have always taken an +interest in amateur dramatic performances, for a reason that Lady +Archibald Campbell in one of her writings has well discussed, +namely, that what the amateur actor or actress may lack in +knowledge of stage traditions he or she will sometimes more than +make up for by the sweet flexibility and abandon of nature. +The amateur will often achieve that rarest of all artistic +excellencies, whether in poetry, painting, sculpture, music, or +histrionics—<a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>naïveté: a quality which in poetry is seen +in its perfection in the finest of the writings of Coleridge; in +acting, it is perhaps seen in its perfection in Duse. Now, +on the occasion to which I refer, one of these schoolgirl +actresses achieved, as I thought, and as others thought with me, +this rare and perfect flower of histrionics; and when I came to +know her I found that she joined wide culture and an immense +knowledge of Shakespeare, Corneille, Racine, and Molière +with an innate gift for rendering them. In any other +society than that of England she would have gone on the stage as +a matter of course, but the fatal prejudice about social position +prevented her from following the vocation that Nature intended +for her. Since then I have seen two or three such cases, +not so striking as this one, but striking enough to make me angry +with Philistinism.’</p> +<p>With this sympathy for histrionic art, it is not at all +surprising that Mr. Watts-Dunton took the greatest interest in +the open-air plays organized by Lady Archibald Campbell at +Coombe. I have seen a brilliant description of these plays +by him which ought to have been presented to the public years +ago. It forms, I believe, a long chapter of an unpublished +novel. Turning over the pages of Davenport Adams’s +‘Dictionary of the Drama,’ which every lover of the +theatre must regret he did not live to complete, I come +accidentally upon these words: “One of the most recently +printed epilogues is that which Theodore Watts-Dunton wrote for +an amateur performance of Banville’s ‘Le +Baiser’ at Coombe, Surrey, in August, 1889.” +And this reminds me that I ought to quote this famous epilogue +here; for Professor Strong in his review of ‘The Coming of +Love’ in ‘Literature’ speaks of the amazing +command over metre and colour and story displayed in <a +name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>the +poem. It is, I believe, the only poem in the English +language in which an elaborate story is fully told by poetic +suggestion instead of direct statement.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">A REMINISCENCE OF THE +OPEN-AIR PLAYS.</p> +<p>Epilogue for the open-air performance of Banville’s +‘Le Baiser, in which Lady Archibald Campbell took the part +of ‘Pierrot’ and Miss Annie Schletter the part of the +‘Fairy.’—Coombe, August 9, 1889.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">To Pierrot in +Love</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">The Clown whose kisses turned a +Crone to a Fairy-queen</p> +<p>What dost thou here in Love’s enchanted wood,<br /> + Pierrot, who once wert safe as clown and +thief—<br /> +Held safe by love of fun and wine and food—<br /> + From her who follows love of Woman, Grief—<br +/> +Her who of old stalked over Eden-grass<br /> + Behind Love’s baby-feet—whose shadow +threw<br /> +On every brook, as on a magic glass,<br /> +Prophetic shapes of what should come to pass<br /> + When tears got mixt with Paradisal dew?</p> +<p>Kisses are loved but for the lips that kiss:<br /> + Thine have restored a princess to her throne,<br /> +Breaking the spell which barred from fairy bliss<br /> + A fay, and shrank her to a wrinkled crone;<br /> +But, if thou dream’st that thou from Pantomime<br /> + Shalt clasp an angel of the mystic moon,<br /> +Clasp her on banks of Love’s own rose and thyme,<br /> +While woodland warblers ring the nuptial-chime—<br /> + Bottom to thee were but a week buffoon.</p> +<p>When yonder fairy, long ago, was told<br /> + The spell which caught her in malign eclipse,<br /> +Turning her radiant body foul and old,<br /> + Would yield to some knight-errant’s virgin +lips,<br /> +And when, through many a weary day and night,<br /> + She, wondering who the paladin would be<br /> +Whose kiss should charm her from her grievous plight,<br /> +Pictured a-many princely heroes bright,<br /> + Dost thou suppose she ever pictured thee?</p> +<p><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>’Tis true the mischief of the foeman’s +charm<br /> + Yielded to thee—to that first kiss of +thine.<br /> +We saw her tremble—lift a rose-wreath arm,<br /> + Which late, all veined and shrivelled, made her +pine;<br /> +We saw her fingers rise and touch her cheek,<br /> + As if the morning breeze across the wood,<br /> +Which lately seemed to strike so chill and bleak<br /> +Through all the wasted body, bent and weak,<br /> + Were light and music now within her blood.</p> +<p>’Tis true thy kiss made all her form expand—<br /> + Made all the skin grow smooth and pure as pearl,<br +/> +Till there she stood, tender, yet tall and grand,<br /> + A queen of Faery, yet a lovesome girl,<br /> +Within whose eyes—whose wide, new-litten eyes—<br /> + New-litten by thy kiss’s re-creation—<br +/> +Expectant joy that yet was wild surprise<br /> +Made all her flesh like light of summer skies<br /> + When dawn lies dreaming of the morn’s +carnation.</p> +<p>But when thou saw’st the breaking of the spell<br /> + Within whose grip of might her soul had pined,<br /> +Like some sweet butterfly that breaks the cell<br /> + In which its purple pinions slept confined,<br /> +And when thou heard’st the strains of elfin song<br /> + Her sisters sang from rainbow cars above +her—<br /> +Didst thou suppose that she, though prisoned long,<br /> +And freed at last by thee from all the wrong,<br /> + Must for that kiss take Harlequin for lover?</p> +<p>Hearken, sweet fool! Though Banville carried thee<br /> + To lawns where love and song still share the +sward<br /> +Beyond the golden river few can see,<br /> + And fewer still, in these grey days, can ford;<br /> +And though he bade the wings of Passion fan<br /> + Thy face, till every line grows bright and human,<br +/> +Feathered thy spirit’s wing for wider span,<br /> +And fired thee with the fire that comes to man<br /> + When first he plucks the rose of Nature, Woman;</p> +<p><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>And +though our actress gives thee that sweet gaze<br /> + Where spirit and matter mingle in liquid +blue—<br /> +That face, where pity through the frolic plays—<br /> + That form, whose lines of light Love’s pencil +drew—<br /> +That voice whose music seems a new caress<br /> + Whenever passion makes a new transition<br /> +From key to key of joy or quaint distress—<br /> +That sigh, when, now, thy fairy’s loveliness<br /> + Leaves thee alone to mourn Love’s vanished +vision:</p> +<p>Still art thou Pierrot—naught but Pierrot ever;<br /> + For is not this the very word of Fate:<br /> +‘No mortal, clown or king, shall e’er dissever<br /> + His present glory from his past estate’?<br /> +Yet be thou wise and dry those foolish tears;<br /> + The clown’s first kiss was needed, not the +clown,<br /> +By her, who, fired by hopes and chilled by fears,<br /> +Sought but a kiss like thine for years on years:<br /> + Be wise, I say, and wander back to town.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Recurring to the Marston gatherings, I reproduce here, from +the same unpublished story to which I have already alluded, the +following interesting account of them and of other social +reunions of the like kind.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Many of those who have reached life’s +meridian, or passed it, will remember the sudden rise, a quarter +of a century ago, of Rossetti, Swinburne, and William +Morris—poets who seemed for a time to threaten the +ascendency of Tennyson himself. Between this galaxy and the +latest generation of poets there rose, culminated, and apparently +set, another—the group which it was the foolish fashion to +call ‘the pre-Raphaelite poets,’ some of whom +yielded, or professed to yield, to the influence of Rossetti, +some to that of William Morris, and some to that of +Swinburne. Round them all, however, there was the aura of +Baudelaire or else of Gautier. These—though, as in +all such <a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>cases, nature had really made them very unlike each +other—formed themselves into a set, or rather a sect, and +tried apparently to become as much like each other as possible, +by studying French models, selecting subjects more or less in +harmony with the French temper, getting up their books after the +fashion that was as much approved then as contemporary fashions +in books are approved now, and by various other means. They +had certain places of meeting, where they held high converse with +themselves. One of these was the hospitable house, in +Fitzroy Square, of the beloved and venerable painter, Mr. Madox +Brown, whose face, as he sat smiling upon his Eisteddfod, +radiating benevolence and encouragement to the unfledged bards he +loved, was a picture which must be cherished in many a grateful +memory now. Another was the equally hospitable house, in +the neighbourhood of Chalk Farm, where reigned the dramatist, +Westland Marston, and where his blind poet-boy Philip +lived. Here O’Shaughnessy would come with a glow of +triumph on his face, which indicated clearly enough what he was +carrying in his pocket—something connecting him with the +divine Théophile—a letter from the Gallic Olympus +perhaps, or a presentation copy sent from the very top of the +Gallic Parnassus. It was on one of these occasions that +Rossetti satirically advised one of the cenacle to quit so poor a +language as that of Shakespeare and write entirely in French, +which language Morris immediately defined as ‘nosey +Latin.’ It is a pity that some literary veteran does +not give his reminiscences of those Marston nights, or rather +Marston mornings, for the symposium began at about twelve and +went on till nearly six—those famous gatherings of poets, +actors, and painters, enlinking the days of Macready, Phelps, +Miss Glyn, Robert Browning, Dante Rossetti, and R. H. <a +name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>Horne, with +the days of poets, actors, and painters like Mr. Swinburne, +Morris, and Mr. Irving. Yet these pre-Raphaelite bards had +another joy surpassing even that of the Chalk Farm symposium, +that of assisting at those literary and artistic feasts which +Rossetti used occasionally to give at Cheyne Walk. +Generosity and geniality incarnate was the mysterious +poet-painter to those he loved; and if the budding bard yearned +for sympathy, as he mostly does, he could get quite as much as he +deserved, and more, at 16 Cheyne Walk. To say that any +artist could take a deeper interest in the work of a friend than +in his own seems bold, yet it could be said of Rossetti. +The mean rivalries of the literary character that so often make +men experienced in the world shrink away from it, found no place +in that great heart. To hear him recite in his musical +voice the sonnet or lyric of some unknown bard or +bardling—recite it in such a way as to lend the lines the +light and music of his own marvellous genius, while the bard or +bardling listened with head bowed low, so that the flush on his +cheek and the moisture in his eye should not be seen—this +was an experience that did indeed make the bardic life +‘worth living.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>Chapter X<br /> +DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI</h2> +<blockquote><p>Thou knowest that island, far away and lone,<br /> + Whose shores are as a harp, where billows break<br +/> + In spray of music and the breezes shake<br /> +O’er spicy seas a woof of colour and tone,<br /> +While that sweet music echoes like a moan<br /> + In the island’s heart, and sighs around the +lake,<br /> + Where, watching fearfully a watchful snake,<br /> +A damsel weeps upon her emerald throne.</p> +<p>Life’s ocean, breaking round thy senses’ shore,<br +/> + Struck golden song, as from the strand of Day:<br /> + For us the joy, for thee the fell foe lay—<br +/> +Pain’s blinking snake around the fair isle’s core,<br +/> + Turning to sighs the enchanted sounds that play<br +/> +Around thy lovely island evermore.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I am now brought to a portion of my study which may well give +me pause—the relations between Mr. Watts-Dunton and +Rossetti. The latest remarks upon them are, I think, the +best; they are by Mr. A. C. Benson in his monograph on Rossetti +in the ‘English Men of Letters’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It would be impossible to exaggerate the +value of his friendship for Rossetti. Mr. Watts-Dunton +understood him, sympathized with him, and with self-denying and +unobtrusive delicacy shielded him, so far as any one can be +shielded, from the rough contact of the world. <a +name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>It was for +a long time hoped that Mr. Watts-Dunton would give the memoir of +his great friend to the world, but there is such a thing as +knowing a man too well to be his biographer. It is, +however, an open secret that a vivid sketch of Rossetti’s +personality has been given to the world in Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s well-known romance ‘Aylwin,’ +where the artist D’Arcy is drawn from Rossetti. . . . +Though singularly independent in judgment, it is clear that, at +all events in the later years of his life, Rossetti’s taste +was, unconsciously, considerably affected by the critical +preferences of Mr. Watts-Dunton. I have heard it said by +one <a name="citation139"></a><a href="#footnote139" +class="citation">[139]</a> who knew them both well that it was +often enough for Mr. Watts-Dunton to express a strong opinion for +Rossetti to adopt it as his own, even though he might have +combated it for the moment. . . .</p> +<p>At the end of each part [of ‘Rose Mary’] comes a +curious lyrical outburst called the Beryl-songs, the chant of the +imprisoned spirits, which are intended to weld the poem together +and to supply connections. It is said that Mr. +Watts-Dunton, when he first read the poem in proof, said to +Rossetti that the drift was too intricate for an ordinary +reader. Rossetti took this to heart, and wrote the +Beryl-songs to bridge the gaps; Mr. Watts-Dunton, on being shown +them, very rightly disapproved, and said humorously that they +turned a fine ballad into a bastard opera. Rossetti, who +was ill at the time, was so much disconcerted and upset at the +criticism, that Mr. Watts-Dunton modified his judgment, and the +interludes were printed. But at a later day Rossetti +himself <a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>came round to the opinion that they were +inappropriate. They are curiously wrought, rhapsodical, +irregular songs, with fantastic rhymes, and were better away. . . +.</p> +<p>Then he began to settle down into the production of the +single-figure pictures, of which Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote that +‘apart from any question of technical shortcomings, one of +Rossetti’s strongest claims to the attention of posterity +was that of having invented, in the three-quarter length pictures +painted from one face, a type of female beauty which was akin to +none other, which was entirely new, in short—and which, for +wealth of sublime and mysterious suggestion, unaided by complex +dramatic design, was unique in the art of the world.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p140b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Pandora. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at ‘The Pines’" +title= +"Pandora. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at ‘The Pines’" +src="images/p140s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>It is well known that Rossetti wished his life—if +written at all—to be written by Mr. Watts-Dunton, unless +his brother should undertake it. It is also well known that +the brother himself wished it, but pressure of other matters +prevented Mr. Watts-Dunton from undertaking it. I expected +difficulties in approaching with regard to the delicate subject +of his relations with Rossetti, but I was not prepared to find +them so great as they have proved to be. When I wrote to +him and asked him whether the portrait of D’Arcy in +‘Aylwin’ was to be accepted as a portrait of +Rossetti, and when I asked him to furnish me with some materials +and facts to form the basis of this chapter, I received from him +the following letter:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mr. +Douglas</span>,—I have never myself affirmed that +D’Arcy was to be taken as an actual portrait of +Rossetti. Even if I thought that a portrait of him could be +given in any form of imaginative literature, <a +name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>I have +views of my own as to the propriety of giving actual portraits of +men with whom a novelist or poet has been brought into +contact. It is quite impossible for an imaginative writer +to avoid the imperious suggestions of his memory when he is +conceiving a character. Thousands of times in a year does +one come across critical remarks upon the prototypes of the +characters of such great novelists as Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, +the Brontës, George Eliot, George Meredith, Thomas Hardy, +and the rest. And I believe that every one of these writers +would confess that his prominent characters were suggested to him +by living individuals or by individuals who figure in +history—but suggested only. And as to the ethics of +so dealing with friends and acquaintances I have also views of my +own. These are easily stated. The closer the +imaginative writer gets to the portrait of a friend, or even of +an acquaintance, the more careful must he be to set his subject +in a genial and even a generous light. It would be a +terrible thing if every man who has been a notable figure in life +were to be represented as this or that at the sweet will of +everybody who has known him. Generous treatment, I say, is +demanded of every writer who makes use of the facets of character +that have struck him in his intercourse with friend or +acquaintance. I will give you an instance of this. +When I drew De Castro in ‘Aylwin’ I made use of my +knowledge of a certain individual. Now this individual, +although a man of quite extraordinary talents, brilliance, and +personal charm, bore not a very good name, because he was driven +to live upon his wits. He had endowments so great and so +various that I cannot conceive any line of life in which he was +not fitted to excel—but it was his irreparable misfortune +to have been trained to no business and no profession, and to +have been <a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>thrown upon the world without means, and without useful +family connections. Such a man must either sink beneath the +oceanic waves of London life, or he must make a struggle to live +upon his wits. This individual made that struggle—he +struck out with a vigour that, as far as I know, was without +example in London society. He got to know, and to know +intimately, men like Ruskin, G. F. Watts, D. G. Rossetti, Mr. W. +M. Rossetti, William Morris, Mr. Swinburne, Sir Edward Burne +Jones, Cruikshank, and I know not what important people +besides. When he was first brought into touch with the +painters, he knew nothing whatever of art; in two or three years, +as I have heard Rossetti say, he was a splendid +‘connoisseur.’ If he had been brought up as a +lawyer he must have risen to the top of the profession. If +he had been brought up as an actor he must, as I have heard a +dramatist say, have risen to the top. But from his very +first appearance in London he was driven to live upon his +wits. And here let me say that this man, who was a bitter +unfriend of my own, because I was compelled to stand in the way +of certain dealings of his, but whom I really could have liked if +he had not been obliged to live upon his wits at the expense of +certain friends of mine, formed the acquaintance of the great men +I have enumerated, not so much from worldly motives, as I +believe, as from real admiration. But being driven to live +upon his wits, he had not sufficient moral strength to afford a +conscience, and the queerest stories were told—some of them +true enough—of his dealings with those great men. +Whistler’s anecdotes of him at one period set many a table +in a roar; and yet so winsome was the man that after a time he +became as intimate with Whistler as ever. If he had +possessed a private income, and if that income had been carefully +settled upon him, I believe <a name="page143"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 143</span>he would have been one of the most +honest of men; I know he would have been one of the most +generous. His conduct to the late Treffry Dunn, from whom +he could not have expected the least return except that of +gratitude, was proof enough of his generosity. Of course to +make use of so strange a character as this was a great temptation +to me when I wrote ‘Aylwin.’ But in what has +been called my ‘thumb-nail portrait of him,’ I +treated the peccadilloes attributed to him in a playful and +jocose way. It would have been quite wrong to have painted +otherwise than in playful colours a character like this. +Like every other man and woman in this world, he left behind him +people who believed in him and loved him. It would have +been cruel to wound these, and unfair to the man; and yet because +I gave only a slight suggestion of his sublime quackery and +supreme blarney, a writer who also knew something about him, but +of course not a thousandth part of what I knew, said that I had +tried my hand at depicting him in ‘Aylwin,’ but with +no great success. As a matter of fact, I did not attempt to +give a portrait of him: I simply used certain facets of his +character to work out my story, and then dismissed him. On +the other hand, where the character of a friend or acquaintance +is noble, the imagination can work more freely—as in the +case of Philip Aylwin, Cyril Aylwin, Wilderspin, Rhona Boswell, +Winifred Wynne, Sinfi Lovell. And as to Rossetti, whom I +have been charged by certain critics with having idealized in my +picture of D’Arcy, all I have to say on that point is +this—that if the noble and fascinating qualities which +Rossetti showed had been leavened with mean ones I should not, in +introducing his character into a story, have considered it right +or fair or generous to dwell upon those mean ones. But as a +matter of <a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>fact, during my whole intercourse with him he displayed +no such qualities. The D’Arcy that I have painted is +not one whit nobler, more magnanimous, wide-minded, and generous, +than was D. G. Rossetti. As I have said on several +occasions, he could and did take as deep an interest in a +friend’s work as in his own. And to benefit a friend +was the greatest pleasure he had in life. I loved the man +so deeply that I should never have introduced D’Arcy into +the novel had it not been in the hope of silencing the +misrepresentations of him that began as soon as ever Rossetti was +laid in the grave at Birchington, by depicting his character in +colours as true as they were sympathetic. It has been the +grievous fate of Rossetti to be the victim of an amount of +detraction which is simply amazing and inscrutable. I +cannot in the least understand why this is so. It is the +great sorrow of my life. There is a fatality of detraction +about his name which in its unreasonableness would be grotesque +were it not heartrending. It would turn my natural optimism +about mankind into pessimism were it not that another dear friend +of mine—a man of equal nobility of character, and almost of +equal genius, has escaped calumny altogether—William +Morris. This matter is a painful puzzle to me. The +only great man of my time who seems to have shared something of +Rossetti’s fate, is Lord Tennyson. There seems to be +a general desire to belittle him, to exaggerate such angularities +as were his, and to speak of that almost childlike simplicity of +character which was an ineffable charm in him as springing from +boorishness and almost from loutishness. On the other hand, +another great genius, Browning, for whom I had and have the +greatest admiration, seems to be as fortunate as Morris in +escaping the detractor. But I am wandering from +Rossetti. I do not <a name="page145"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 145</span>feel any impulse to write +reminiscences of him. Too much has been written about him +already—of late a great deal too much. The only thing +written about him that has given me comfort—I may say joy, +is this—it has been written by a man who knew him before I +did, who knew him at the time he lost his wife. Mr. Val +Prinsep, R.A., has declared that in Rossetti’s relations +with his wife there was nothing whatever upon which his +conscience might reasonably trouble him. I do not remember +the exact words, but this was the substance of them. Mr. +Val Prinsep is a man of the highest standing, and he knew +Rossetti intimately, and he has declared in print that Rossetti +could have had no qualms of conscience in regard to his relations +with his wife. This, I say, is a source of great comfort to +me and to all who loved Rossetti. That he was whimsical, +fanciful, and at times most troublesome to his friends, no one +knows better than I do.</p> +<p>No one, I say, is more competent to speak of the whims and the +fancies and the troublesomeness of Rossetti than I am; and yet I +say that he was one of the noblest-hearted men of his time, and +lovable—most lovable.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It would be worse than idle to enter at this time of day upon +the painful subject of the “Buchanan affair.” +Indeed, I have often thought it is a great pity that it is not +allowed to die out. The only reason why it is still kept +alive seems to be that, without discussing it, it is impossible +fully to understand Rossetti’s nervous illness, about which +so much has been said. I remember seeing in Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s essay on Congreve in ‘Chambers’s +Encyclopædia’ a definition of envy as the +‘literary leprosy.’ This phrase has often been +quoted in reference <a name="page146"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 146</span>to the case of Buchanan, and also in +reference to a recent and much more ghastly case between two +intimate friends. Now, with all deference to Mr. +Watts-Dunton, I cannot accept it as a right and fair +definition. It is a fact no doubt that the struggle in the +world of art—whether poetry, music, painting, sculpture, or +the drama—is unlike that of the mere strivers after wealth +and position, inasmuch as to praise one man’s artistic work +is in a certain way to set it up against the work of +another. Still, one can realize, without referring to +Disraeli’s ‘Curiosities of Literature,’ that +envy is much too vigorous in the artistic life. Now, +whatever may have been the good qualities of Buchanan—and I +know he had many good qualities—it seems unfortunately to +be true that he was afflicted with this terrible disease of +envy. There can be no question that what incited him to +write the notorious article in the ‘Contemporary +Review’ entitled ‘The Fleshly School of +Poetry,’ was simply envy—envy and nothing else. +It was during the time that Rossetti was suffering most +dreadfully from the mental disturbance which seems really to have +originated in this attack and the cognate attacks which appeared +in certain other magazines, that the intimacy between Mr. +Watts-Dunton and Rossetti was formed and cemented. And it +is to this period that Mr. William Rossetti alludes in the +following words: “‘Watts is a hero of +friendship’ was, according to Mr. Caine, one of my +brother’s last utterances, easy enough to be +credited.”</p> +<p>That he deserved these words I think none will deny; and that +the friendship sprang from the depths of the nature of a man to +whom the word ‘friendship’ meant not what it +generally means now, a languid sentiment, but what it meant in +Shakespeare’s time, a deep passion, is shown by what some +deem the finest lines Mr. Watts-Dunton <a +name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>ever +wrote—I mean those lines which he puts into the mouth of +Shakespeare’s Friend in ‘Christmas at the +Mermaid,’ lines part of which have been admirably turned +into Latin by Mr. E. D. Stone, <a name="citation147"></a><a +href="#footnote147" class="citation">[147]</a> and published by +him in the second volume of that felicitous series of Latin +translations,’ Florilegium Latinum’:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘MR. W. +H.’</p> +<p>To sing the nation’s song or do the deed<br /> +That crowns with richer light the motherland,<br /> +Or lend her strength of arm in hour of need<br /> +When fangs of foes shine fierce on every hand,<br /> +Is joy to him whose joy is working well—<br /> +Is goal and guerdon too, though never fame.<br /> +<a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>Should +find a thrill of music in his name;<br /> +Yea, goal and guerdon too, though Scorn should aim<br /> +Her arrows at his soul’s high citadel.</p> +<p>But if the fates withhold the joy from me<br /> +To do the deed that widens England’s day,<br /> +Or join that song of Freedom’s jubilee<br /> +Begun when England started on her way—<br /> +Withhold from me the hero’s glorious power<br /> +To strike with song or sword for her, the mother,<br /> +And give that sacred guerdon to another,<br /> +Him will I hail as my more noble brother—<br /> +Him will I love for his diviner dower.</p> +<p>Enough for me who have our Shakspeare’s love<br /> +To see a poet win the poet’s goal,<br /> +For Will is he; enough and far above<br /> +All other prizes to make rich my soul.<br /> +Ben names my numbers golden. Since they tell<br /> +A tale of him who in his peerless prime<br /> +Fled us ere yet one shadowy film of time<br /> +Could dim the lustre of that brow sublime,<br /> +Golden my numbers are: Ben praiseth well.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It seems to me to be needful to bear in mind these lines, and +the extremely close intimacy between these two poet-friends in +order to be able to forgive entirely the unexampled scourging of +Buchanan in the following sonnet if, as some writers think, +Buchanan was meant:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">THE OCTOPUS OF THE +GOLDEN ISLES<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">what! will they even strike at +me</span>?’</p> +<p>Round many an Isle of Song, in seas serene,<br /> + With many a swimmer strove the poet-boy,<br /> + Yet strove in love: their strength, I say, was +joy<br /> +To him, my friend—dear friend of godlike mien!<br /> +But soon he felt beneath the billowy green<br /> + A monster moving—moving to destroy:<br /> + Limb after limb became the tortured toy<br /> +Of coils that clung and lips that stung unseen.</p> +<p><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>“And canst thou strike ev’n me?” the +swimmer said,<br /> + As rose above the waves the deadly eyes,<br /> + Arms flecked with mouths that kissed in hellish +wise,<br /> +Quivering in hate around a hateful head.—<br /> + I saw him fight old Envy’s sorceries:<br /> +I saw him sink: the man I loved is dead!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here we get something quite new in satire—something in +which poetry, fancy, hatred, and contempt, are mingled. The +sonnet appeared first in the ‘Athenæum,’ and +afterwards in ‘The Coming of Love.’ If Buchanan +or any special individual was meant, I doubt whether any man has +a moral right to speak about another man in such terms as +these.</p> +<p>All the friends of Rossetti have remarked upon the +extraordinary influence exercised upon him by Mr. +Watts-Dunton. Lady Mount Temple, a great friend of the +painter-poet, used to tell how when she was in his studio and +found him in a state of great dejection, as was so frequently the +case, she would notice that Rossetti’s face would suddenly +brighten up on hearing a light footfall in the hall—the +footfall of his friend, who had entered with his +latch-key—and how from that moment Rossetti would be +another man. Rossetti’s own relatives have recorded +the same influence. I have often thought that the most +touching thing in Mr. W. M. Rossetti’s beautiful monograph +of his brother is the following extract from his aged +mother’s diary at Birchington-on-Sea, when the poet is +dying:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘March 28, Tuesday. Mr. Watts came +down; Gabriel rallied marvellously.</p> +<p>This is the last cheerful item which it is allowed me to +record concerning my brother; I am glad that it stands associated +with the name of Theodore Watts.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>Here +is another excerpt from the brother’s diary:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Gabriel had, just before Shields entered +the drawing-room for me, given two violent cries, and had a +convulsive fit, very sharp and distorting the face, followed by +collapse. All this passed without my personal +cognizance. He died 9.31 p.m.; the others—Watts, +mother, Christina, and nurse, in room; Caine and Shields in and +out; Watts at Gabriel’s right side, partly supporting +him.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That Mr. Watts-Dunton’s influence over Rossetti extended +even to his art as a poet is shown by Mr. Benson’s words +already quoted. I must also quote the testimony of Mr. Hall +Caine, who says, in his ‘Recollections’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Rossetti, throughout the period of my +acquaintance with him, seemed to me always peculiarly and, if I +may be permitted to say so without offence, strangely liable to +Mr. Watts’ influence in his critical estimates; and the +case instanced was perhaps the only one in which I knew him to +resist Mr. Watts’s opinion upon a matter of poetical +criticism, which he considered to be almost final, as his letters +to me, printed in Chapter VIII of this volume, will show. I +had a striking instance of this, and of the real modesty of the +man whom I had heard and still hear spoken of as the most +arrogant man of genius of his day, on one of the first occasions +of my seeing him. He read out to me an additional stanza to +the beautiful poem ‘Cloud Confines.’ As he read +it, I thought it very fine, and he evidently was very fond of it +himself. But he surprised me by saying that he should not +print it. On my asking him why, he said:</p> +<p><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>‘Watts, though he admits its beauty, thinks the +poem would be better without it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, but you like it yourself,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but in a question of +gain or loss to a poem I feel that Watts must be +right.’</p> +<p>And the poem appeared in ‘Ballads and Sonnets’ +without the stanza in question.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here is another beautiful passage from Mr. Hall Caine’s +‘Recollections’—a passage which speaks as much +for the writer as for the object of his enthusiasm:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“As to Mr. Theodore Watts, whose brotherly +devotion to him and beneficial influence over him from that time +forward are so well known, this must be considered by those who +witnessed it to be almost without precedent or parallel even in +the beautiful story of literary friendships, and it does as much +honour to the one as to the other. No light matter it must +have been to lay aside one’s own long-cherished life-work +and literary ambitions to be Rossetti’s closest friend and +brother, at a moment like the present, when he imagined the world +to be conspiring against him; but through these evil days, and +long after them, down to his death, the friend that clung closer +than a brother was with him, as he himself said, to protect, to +soothe, to comfort, to divert, to interest and inspire +him—asking, meantime, no better reward than the knowledge +that a noble mind and nature was by such sacrifice lifted out of +sorrow. Among the world’s great men the greatest are +sometimes those whose names are least on our lips, and this is +because selfish aims have been so subordinate in their lives to +the welfare of others as to leave no time for the personal +achievements that win personal distinction; but when the world <a +name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>comes to +the knowledge of the price that has been paid for the devotion +that enables others to enjoy their renown, shall it not reward +with a double meed of gratitude the fine spirits to whom ambition +has been as nothing against fidelity of friendship. Among +the latest words I heard from Rossetti was this: ‘Watts is +a hero of friendship’; and indeed, he has displayed his +capacity for participation in the noblest part of comradeship, +that part, namely, which is far above the mere traffic that too +often goes by the name, and wherein self-love always counts upon +being the gainer. If in the end it should appear that he +has in his own person done less than might have been hoped for +from one possessed of his splendid gifts, let it not be +overlooked that he has influenced in a quite incalculable degree, +and influenced for good, several of the foremost among those who +in their turn have influenced the age. As Rossetti’s +faithful friend and gifted medical adviser, Mr. John Marshall, +has often declared, there were periods when Rossetti’s very +life may be said to have hung upon Mr. Watts’ power to +cheer and soothe.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This anecdote is also told by Mr. Caine:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Immediately upon the publication of his +first volume, and incited thereto by the early success of it, he +had written the poem ‘Rose Mary,’ as well as two +lyrics published at the time in ‘The Fortnightly +Review’; but he suffered so seriously from the subsequent +assaults of criticism, that he seemed definitely to lay aside all +hope of producing further poetry, and, indeed, to become +possessed of the delusion that he had for ever lost all power of +doing so. It is an interesting fact, well known in his own +literary circle, that his taking up poetry afresh was the result +of a fortuitous occurrence. After one of <a +name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>his most +serious illnesses, and in the hope of drawing off his attention +from himself, and from the gloomy forebodings which in an +invalid’s mind usually gather about his own too absorbing +personality, a friend prevailed upon him, with infinite +solicitation, to try his hand afresh at a sonnet. The +outcome was an effort so feeble as to be all but unrecognizable +as the work of the author of the sonnets of ‘The House of +Life,’ but, with more shrewdness and friendliness (on this +occasion) than frankness, the critic lavished measureless praise +upon it and urged the poet to renewed exertion. One by one, +at longer or shorter intervals, sonnets were written, and this +exercise did more towards his recovery than any other medicine, +with the result besides that Rossetti eventually regained all his +old dexterity and mastery of hand. The artifice had +succeeded beyond every expectation formed of it, serving, indeed, +the twofold end of improving the invalid’s health by +preventing his brooding over unhealthy matters, and increasing +the number of his accomplished works. Encouraged by such +results, the friend went on to induce Rossetti to write a ballad, +and this purpose he finally achieved by challenging the +poet’s ability to compose in the simple, direct, and +emphatic style, which is the style of the ballad proper, as +distinguished from the elaborate, ornate, and condensed diction +which he had hitherto worked in. Put upon his mettle, the +outcome of this second artifice practised upon him was that he +wrote ‘The White Ship’ and afterwards ‘The +King’s Tragedy.’</p> +<p>Thus was Rossetti already immersed in this revived occupation +of poetic composition, and had recovered a healthy tone of body, +before he became conscious of what was being done with him. +It is a further amusing fact that one day he requested to be +shown the first <a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +154</span>sonnet which, in view of the praise lavished upon it by +the friend on whose judgment he reposed, had encouraged him to +renewed effort. The sonnet was bad: the critic knew it was +bad, and had from the first hour of its production kept it +carefully out of sight, and was now more than ever unwilling to +show it. Eventually, however, by reason of ceaseless +importunity, he returned it to its author, who, upon reading it, +cried: ‘You fraud! You said this sonnet was good, and +it’s the worst I ever wrote!’ ‘The worst +ever written would perhaps be a truer criticism,’ was the +reply, as the studio resounded with a hearty laugh, and the poem +was committed to the flames. It would appear that to this +occurrence we probably owe a large portion of the contents of the +volume of 1881.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. William Rossetti is ever eager to testify to the +beneficent effect of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s intimacy upon his +brother; and quite lately Madox Brown’s grandson, Mr. Ford +Madox Hueffer, who, from his connection with the Rossetti family, +speaks with great authority, wrote: ‘In 1873 came Mr. +Theodore Watts, without whose practical friendship and advice, +and without whose literary aids and sustenance, life would have +been from thenceforth an impracticable affair for +Rossetti.’ Mr. Hueffer speaks of the great change +that came over Rossetti’s work when he wrote ‘The +King’s Tragedy’ and ‘The White +Ship’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It should be pointed out that ‘The +White Ship’ was one of Rossetti’s last works, and +that in it he was aiming at simplicity of narration, under the +advice of Mr. Theodore Watts. In this he was undoubtedly on +the right track, and the ‘rhymed chronicles’ might +have <a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>disappeared had Rossetti lived long enough to revise +the poem as sedulously as he did his earlier work, and to revise +it with the knowledge of narrative-technique that the greater +part of the poem shows was coming to be his.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was impossible for a man of genius to live so secluded a +life as Rossetti lived at Cheyne Walk and at Kelmscott for +several years, without wild, unauthenticated stories getting +about concerning him. Among other things Rossetti, whose +courtesy and charm of manner were, I believe, proverbial, was now +charged with a rudeness, or rather boorishness like that which +with equal injustice, apparently, is now being attributed to +Tennyson. Stories got into print about his rude bearing +towards people, sometimes towards ladies of the most exalted +position. And these apocryphal and disparaging legends +would no doubt have been still more numerous and still more +offensive, had it not been for the influence of his watchful and +powerful friend. Here is an interesting letter which +Rossetti addressed to the ‘World,’ and which shows +the close relations between him and Mr. Watts-Dunton:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">“16 <span +class="smcap">Cheyne Walk</span>, <span +class="smcap">Chelsea</span>, S.W.<br /> +December 28, 1878.</p> +<p>My attention has been directed to the following paragraph +which has appeared in the newspapers: ‘A very disagreeable +story is told about a neighbour of Mr. Whistler’s, whose +works are not exhibited to the vulgar herd; the Princess Louise +in her zeal therefore, graciously sought them at the +artist’s studio, but was rebuffed by a ‘Not at +home’ and an intimation that he was not at the beck and +call of princesses. I trust it is not true,’ +continues the writer of the paragraph, ‘that so medievally +minded a gentleman is really a stranger <a +name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>to that +generous loyalty to rank and sex, that dignified +obedience,’ etc.</p> +<p>The story is certainly disagreeable enough; but if I am +pointed out as the ‘near neighbour of Mr. +Whistler’s’ who rebuffed, in this rude fashion, the +Princess Louise, I can only say that it is a canard devoid of the +smallest nucleus of truth. Her Royal Highness has never +called upon me, and I know of only two occasions when she has +expressed a wish to do so. Some years ago Mr. Theodore +Martin spoke to me upon the subject, but I was at that time +engaged upon an important work, and the delays thence arising +caused the matter to slip through. And I heard no more upon +the subject till last summer, when Mr. Theodore Watts told me +that the Princess, in conversation, had mentioned my name to him, +and that he had then assured her that I should feel +‘honoured and charmed to see her,’ and suggested her +making an appointment. Her Royal Highness knew that Mr. +Watts, as one of my most intimate friends, would not have thus +expressed himself without feeling fully warranted in so doing; +and had she called she would not, I trust, have found me wanting +in that ‘generous loyalty’ which is due, not more to +her exalted position, than to her well-known charm of character +and artistic gifts. It is true that I do not run after +great people on account of their mere social position, but I am, +I hope, never rude to them; and the man who could rebuff the +Princess Louise must be a curmudgeon indeed.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">D. G. ROSSETTI.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At the very juncture in question Lord Lorne was suddenly and +unexpectedly appointed Governor-General of Canada, and, leaving +England, Her Royal Highness <a name="page157"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 157</span>did not return until +Rossetti’s health had somewhat suddenly broken down, and it +was impossible for him to see any but his most intimate +friends.</p> +<p>My account of the friendship between Mr. Watts-Dunton and +Rossetti would not be complete without the poem entitled, +‘A Grave by the Sea,’ which I think may be placed +beside Milton’s ‘Lycidas,’ Shelley’s +‘Adonais,’ Matthew Arnold’s +‘Thyrsis,’ and Swinburne’s ‘Ave Atque +Vale,’ as one of the noblest elegies in our +literature:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">A GRAVE BY THE SEA</p> +<p style="text-align: center">I</p> +<p>Yon sightless poet <a name="citation157"></a><a +href="#footnote157" class="citation">[157]</a> whom thou +leav’st behind,<br /> + Sightless and trembling like a storm-struck tree,<br +/> + Above the grave he feels but cannot see,<br /> +Save with the vision Sorrow lends the mind,<br /> +Is he indeed the loneliest of mankind?<br /> + Ah no!—For all his sobs, he seems to me<br /> + Less lonely standing there, and nearer thee,<br /> +Than I—less lonely, nearer—standing blind!</p> +<p>Free from the day, and piercing Life’s disguise<br /> + That needs must partly enveil true heart from +heart,<br /> + His inner eyes may see thee as thou art<br /> +In Memory’s land—see thee beneath the skies<br /> +Lit by thy brow—by those beloved eyes,<br /> + While I stand by him in a world apart.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II</p> +<p>I stand like her who on the glittering Rhine<br /> + Saw that strange swan which drew a faëry +boat<br /> + Where shone a knight whose radiant forehead smote<br +/> +Her soul with light and made her blue eyes shine<br /> +<a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>For many +a day with sights that seemed divine,<br /> + Till that false swan returned and arched his +throat<br /> + In pride, and called him, and she saw him float<br +/> +Adown the stream: I stand like her and pine.</p> +<p>I stand like her, for she, and only she,<br /> +Might know my loneliness for want of thee.<br /> + Light swam into her soul, she asked not whence,<br +/> +Filled it with joy no clouds of life could smother,<br /> + And then, departing like a vision thence,<br /> +Left her more lonely than the blind, my brother.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III</p> +<p>Last night Death whispered: ‘Death is but the name<br /> + Man gives the Power which lends him life and +light,<br /> + And then, returning past the coast of night,<br /> +Takes what it lent to shores from whence it came.<br /> +What balm in knowing the dark doth but reclaim<br /> + The sun it lent, if day hath taken flight?<br /> + Art thou not vanished—vanished from my +sight—<br /> +Though somewhere shining, vanished all the same?</p> +<p>With Nature dumb, save for the billows’ moan,<br /> + Engirt by men I love, yet desolate—<br /> +Standing with brothers here, yet dazed and lone,<br /> + King’d by my sorrow, made by grief so great<br +/> +That man’s voice murmurs like an insect’s +drone—<br /> + What balm, I ask, in knowing that Death is Fate?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV</p> +<p>Last night Death whispered: ‘Life’s purblind +procession,<br /> + Flickering with blazon of the human story—<br +/> + Time’s fen-flame over Death’s dark +territory—<br /> +Will leave no trail, no sign of Life’s aggression.<br /> +Yon moon that strikes the pane, the stars in session,<br /> + Are weak as Man they mock with fleeting glory.<br /> + Since Life is only Death’s frail feudatory,<br +/> +How shall love hold of Fate in true possession?’</p> +<p><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>I +answered thus: ‘If Friendship’s isle of palm<br /> + Is but a vision, every loveliest leaf,<br /> +Can Knowledge of its mockery soothe and calm<br /> + This soul of mine in this most fiery grief?<br /> + If Love but holds of Life through Death in fief,<br +/> +What balm in knowing that Love is Death’s—what +balm?’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">V</p> +<p>Yea, thus I boldly answered Death—even I<br /> + Who have for boon—who have for deathless +dower—<br /> + Thy love, dear friend, which broods, a magic +power,<br /> +Filling with music earth and sea and sky:<br /> +‘O Death,’ I said, ‘not Love, but thou shalt +die;<br /> + For, this I know, though thine is now the hour,<br +/> + And thine these angry clouds of doom that lour,<br +/> +Death striking Love but strikes to deify.’</p> +<p>Yet while I spoke I sighed in loneliness,<br /> +For strange seemed Man, and Life seemed comfortless,<br /> + And night, whom we two loved, seemed strange and +dumb;<br /> +And, waiting till the dawn the promised sign,<br /> +I watched—I listened for that voice of thine,<br /> + Though Reason said: ‘Nor voice nor face can +come.’</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Birchington</span>,<br /> + <span +class="smcap">Eastertide</span>, 1882.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton has written many magnificent sonnets, but the +sonnet in this sequence beginning—</p> +<blockquote><p>Last night Death whispered: ‘Life’s +purblind procession,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>is, I think, the finest of them all. The imaginative +conception packed into these fourteen lines is cosmic in its +sweep. In the metrical scheme the feminine rhymes of the +octave play a very important part. They suggest pathetic +suspense, mystery, yearning, hope, fear; they ask, they wonder, +they falter. But in the sestet the words of destiny are +calmly and coldly pronounced, and every rhyme clinches <a +name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>the voice +of doom, until the uttermost deep of despair is sounded in the +iterated cry of the last line. The craftsmanship throughout +is masterly. There is, indeed, one line which is not +unworthy of being ranked with the great lines of English +poetry:</p> +<blockquote><p>Yon moon that strikes the pane, the stars in +session.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here by a bold use of the simple verb ‘strikes’ a +whole poem is hammered into six words. As to the +interesting question of feminine rhymes, while I admit that they +should never be used without an emotional mandate, I think that +here it is overwhelming.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>I have tried to show the beauty of the friendship between +these two rare spirits by means of other testimony than my own, +for although I have been granted the honour of knowing +Rossetti’s ‘friend of friends,’ I missed the +equal honour of knowing Rossetti, save through that ‘friend +of friends.’ But to know Mr. Watts-Dunton seems +almost like knowing Rossetti, for when at The Pines he begins to +recall those golden hours when the poets used to hold converse, +the soul of Rossetti seems to come back from the land of shadows, +as his friend depicts his winsome ways, his nobility of heart, +his generous interest in the work of others, that lovableness of +nature and charm of personality which, if we are to believe Mr. +Ford Madox Hueffer, worked, in some degree, ill for the +poet. Mr. Hueffer, who, as a family connection, may be +supposed to represent the family tradition about +‘Gabriel,’ has some striking and pregnant words upon +the injurious effect of Rossetti’s being brought so much +into contact with admirers from the time when Mr. Meredith and +Mr. Swinburne were his housemates at Cheyne Walk. +“Then came the ‘Pre-Raphaelite’ poets like +Philip <a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>Marston, O’Shaughnessy, and ‘B. +V.’ Afterwards there came a whole host of young men +like Mr. William Sharp, who were serious admirers, and to-day are +in their places or are dead or forgotten; and others again who +came for the ‘pickings.’ They were all more or +less enthusiasts.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p161b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"‘The Green Dining Room,’ 16 Cheyne Walk. (From a +Painting by Dunn, at ‘The Pines.’)" +title= +"‘The Green Dining Room,’ 16 Cheyne Walk. (From a +Painting by Dunn, at ‘The Pines.’)" +src="images/p161s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Mr. Hake, in ‘Notes and Queries’ (June 7, 1902), +says:</p> +<blockquote><p>“With regard to the green room in which +Winifred took her first breakfast at ‘Hurstcote,’ I +am a little in confusion. It seems to me more like the +green dining-room in Cheyne Walk, decorated with antique mirrors, +which was painted by Dunn, showing Rossetti reading his poems +aloud. This is the only portrait of Rossetti that really +calls up the man before me. As Mr. Watts-Dunton is the +owner of Dunn’s drawing, and as so many people want to see +what Rossetti’s famous Chelsea house was like inside, it is +a pity he does not give it as a frontispiece to some future +edition of ‘Aylwin.’ Unfortunately, Mr. G. F. +Watts’s picture, now in the National Portrait Gallery, was +never finished, and I never saw upon Rossetti’s face the +dull, heavy expression which that portrait wears. I think +the poet told me that he had given the painter only one or two +sittings. As to the photographs, none of them is really +satisfactory.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I am fortunate in being able to reproduce here the picture of +the famous ‘Green Dining Room’ at 16 Cheyne Walk, to +which Mr. Hake refers. Mr. Hake also writes in the same +article: “With regard to the two circular mirrors +surrounded by painted designs telling the story of the Holy +Grail, ‘in old black oak frames carved with knights at +tilt,’ I do not remember seeing these there. But they +are evidently the mirrors <a name="page162"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 162</span>decorated with copies by Dunn of the +lost Holy Grail frescoes once existing on the walls of the Union +Reading-Room at Oxford. These beautiful decorations I have +seen at ‘The Pines,’ but not elsewhere.” +I am sure that my readers will be interested in the photograph of +one of these famous mirrors, which Mr. Watts-Dunton has +generously permitted to be specially taken for this book.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p162b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"One of the Carved Mirrors at ‘The Pines,’ decorated +with Dunn’s copy of the lost Rossetti Frescoes at the +Oxford Union" +title= +"One of the Carved Mirrors at ‘The Pines,’ decorated +with Dunn’s copy of the lost Rossetti Frescoes at the +Oxford Union" +src="images/p162s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>And here again I must draw upon Dr. Gordon Hake’s +fascinating book of poetry, ‘The New Day,’ which must +live, if only for its reminiscences of the life poetic lived at +Chelsea, Kelmscott, and Bognor:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">THE NEW DAY</p> +<p style="text-align: center">I</p> +<p>In the unbroken silence of the mind<br /> + Thoughts creep about us, seeming not to move,<br /> +And life is back among the days behind—<br /> + The spectral days of that lamented love—<br /> +Days whose romance can never be repeated.<br /> + The sun of Kelmscott through the foliage +gleaming,<br /> +We see him, life-like, at his easel seated,<br /> + His voice, his brush, with rival wonders teeming.<br +/> +These vanished hours, where are they stored away?<br /> + Hear we the voice, or but its lingering tone?<br /> +Its utterances are swallowed up in day;<br /> + The gabled house, the mighty master gone.<br /> +Yet are they ours: the stranger at the hall—<br /> +What dreams he of the days we there recall?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II</p> +<p>O, happy days with him who once so loved us!<br /> + We loved as brothers, with a single heart,<br /> +The man whose iris-woven pictures moved us<br /> + From Nature to her blazoned shadow—Art.<br /> +How often did we trace the nestling Thames<br /> + From humblest waters on his course of might,<br /> +<a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>Down +where the weir the bursting current stems—<br /> + There sat till evening grew to balmy night,<br /> +Veiling the weir whose roar recalled the strand<br /> + Where we had listened to the wave-lipped sea,<br /> +That seemed to utter plaudits while we planned<br /> + Triumphal labours of the day to be.<br /> +The words were his: ‘Such love can never die;’<br /> +The grief was ours when he no more was nigh.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III</p> +<p>Like some sweet water-bell, the tinkling rill<br /> + Still calls the flowers upon its misty bank<br /> +To stoop into the stream and drink their fill.<br /> + And still the shapeless rushes, green and rank,<br +/> +Seem lounging in their pride round those retreats,<br /> + Watching slim willows dip their thirsty spray.<br /> +Slowly a loosened weed another meets;<br /> + They stop, like strangers, neither giving way.<br /> +We are here surely if the world, forgot,<br /> + Glides from our sight into the charm, unbidden;<br +/> +We are here surely at this witching spot,—<br /> + Though Nature in the reverie is hidden.<br /> +A spell so holds our captive eyes in thrall,<br /> +It is as if a play pervaded all.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">IV</p> +<p>Sitting with him, his tones as Petrarch’s tender,<br /> + With many a speaking vision on the wall,<br /> +The fire, a-blaze, flashing the studio fender,<br /> + Closed in from London shouts and ceaseless +brawl—<br /> +’Twas you brought Nature to the visiting,<br /> + Till she herself seemed breathing in the room,<br /> +And Art grew fragrant in the glow of spring<br /> + With homely scents of gorse and heather bloom.<br /> +Or sunbeams shone by many an Alpine fountain,<br /> + Fed by the waters of the forest stream;<br /> +Or glacier-glories in the rock-girt mountain,<br /> + Where they so often fed the poet’s dream;<br +/> +Or else was mingled the rough billow’s glee<br /> +With cries of petrels on a sullen sea.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page164"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 164</span>V</p> +<p>Remember how we roamed the Channel’s shore,<br /> + And read aloud our verses, each in turn,<br /> +While rhythmic waves to us their music bore,<br /> + And foam-flakes leapt from out the rocky churn.<br +/> +Then oft with glowing eyes you strove to capture<br /> + The potent word that makes a thought abiding,<br /> +And wings it upward to its place of rapture,<br /> + While we discoursed to Nature, she presiding.<br /> +Then would the poet-painter gaze in wonder<br /> + That art knew not the mighty reverie<br /> +That moves earth’s spirit and her orb asunder,<br /> + While ocean’s depths, even, seem a shallow +sea.<br /> +Yet with rare genius could his hand impart<br /> +His own far-searching poesy to art.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The fourth of these exquisite sonnets delights me most of +all. It makes me see the recluse in his studio, sitting +snugly with his feet in the fender, when suddenly the door opens +and the poet of Nature brings with him a new atmosphere—the +salt atmosphere which envelops ‘Mother Carey’s +Chicken,’ and the attenuated mountain air of Natura +Benigna. And yet perhaps the description of</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The sun of Kelmscott through the foliage +gleaming’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>is equally fascinating.</p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton himself, with a stronger hand and more +vigorous brush, has in his sonnet ‘The Shadow on the Window +Blind,’ made Kelmscott Manor and the poetic life lived +there still more memorable:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Within this thicket’s every leafy lair<br /> + A song-bird sleeps: the very rooks are dumb,<br /> + Though red behind their nests the moon has +swum—<br /> +But still I see that shadow writing there!—<br /> +Poet, behind yon casement’s ruddy square,<br /> + <a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>Whose shadow tells me why you do not come—<br /> + Rhyming and chiming of thine insect-hum,<br /> +Flying and singing through thine inch of air—</p> +<p>Come thither, where on grass and flower and leaf<br /> + Gleams Nature’s scripture, putting Man’s +to shame:<br /> +‘Thy day,’ she says, ‘is all too rich and +brief—<br /> + Thy game of life too wonderful a game—<br /> +To give to Art entirely or in chief:<br /> + Drink of these dews—sweeter than wine of +Fame.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Aylwin,’ too, is full of vivid pictures of +Rossetti at Chelsea and Kelmscott.</p> +<p>The following description of the famous house and garden, 16 +Cheyne Walk, has been declared by one of Rossetti’s most +intimate friends to be marvellously graphic and true:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“On sending in my card I was shown at once +into the studio, and after threading my way between some pieces +of massive furniture and pictures upon easels, I found +D’Arcy lolling lazily upon a huge sofa. Seeing that +he was not alone, I was about to withdraw, for I was in no mood +to meet strangers. However, he sprang up and introduced me +to his guest, whom he called Symonds, an elegant-looking man in a +peculiar kind of evening dress, who, as I afterwards learnt, was +one of Mr. D’Arcy’s chief buyers. This +gentleman bowed stiffly to me.</p> +<p>He did not stay long; indeed, it was evident that the +appearance of a stranger somewhat disconcerted him.</p> +<p>After he was gone D’Arcy said: ‘A good +fellow! One of my most important buyers. I should +like you to know him, for you and I are going to be friends, I +hope.’</p> +<p>‘He seems very fond of pictures,’ I said.</p> +<p>‘A man of great taste, with a real love of art and +music.’</p> +<p><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>A +little while after this gentleman’s departure, in came De +Castro, who had driven up in a hansom. I certainly saw a +flash of anger in his eyes as he recognized me, but it vanished +like lightning, and his manner became cordiality itself. +Late as it was (it was nearly twelve), he pulled out his +cigarette case, and evidently intended to begin the +evening. As soon as he was told that Mr. Symonds had been +there, he began to talk about him in a disparaging manner. +Evidently his métier was, as I had surmised, that of a +professional talker. Talk was his stock-in-trade.</p> +<p>The night wore on and De Castro, in the intervals of his talk, +kept pulling out his watch. It was evident that he wanted +to be going, but was reluctant to leave me there. For my +part, I frequently rose to go, but on getting a sign from +D’Arcy that he wished me to stay I sat down again. At +last D’Arcy said:</p> +<p>‘You had better go now, De Castro—you have kept +that hansom outside for more than an hour and a half; and +besides, if you stay still daylight our friend here will stay +longer, for I want to talk with him alone.’</p> +<p>De Castro got up with a laugh that seemed genuine enough, and +left us.</p> +<p>D’Arcy, who was still on the sofa, then lapsed into a +silence that became after a while rather awkward. He lay +there, gazing abstractedly at the fireplace.</p> +<p>‘Some of my friends call me, as you heard De Castro say +the other night, Haroun-al-Raschid, and I suppose I am like him +in some things. I am a bad sleeper, and to be amused by De +Castro when I can’t sleep is the chief of blessings. +De Castro, however, is not so bad as he seems. A man may be +a scandal-monger without being really malignant. I have +known him go out of his way to do a struggling man a +service.’</p> +<p><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>Next +morning, after I had finished my solitary breakfast, I asked the +servant if Mr. D’Arcy had yet risen. On being told +that he had not, I went downstairs into the studio, where I had +spent the previous evening. After examining the pictures on +the walls and the easels, I walked to the window and looked out +at the garden. It was large, and so neglected and untrimmed +as to be a veritable wilderness. While I was marvelling why +it should have been left in this state, I saw the eyes of some +animal staring at me from a distance, and was soon astonished to +see that they belonged to a little Indian bull. My +curiosity induced me to go into the garden and look at the +creature. He seemed rather threatening at first, but after +a while allowed me to go up to him and stroke him. Then I +left the Indian bull and explored this extraordinary +domain. It was full of unkempt trees, including two fine +mulberries, and surrounded by a very high wall. Soon I came +across an object which, at first, seemed a little mass of black +and white oats moving along, but I presently discovered it to be +a hedgehog. It was so tame that it did not curl up as I +approached it, but allowed me, though with some show of +nervousness, to stroke its pretty little black snout. As I +walked about the garden, I found it was populated with several +kinds of animals such as are never seen except in menageries or +in the Zoological Gardens. Wombats, kangaroos, and the +like, formed a kind of happy family.</p> +<p>My love of animals led me to linger in the garden. When +I returned to the house I found that D’Arcy had already +breakfasted, and was at work in the studio.</p> +<p>After greeting me with the greatest cordiality, he said:</p> +<p>‘No doubt you are surprised at my menagerie. <a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>Every man +has one side of his character where the child remains. I +have a love of animals which, I suppose, I may call a +passion. The kind of amusement they can afford me is like +none other. It is the self-consciousness of men and women +that makes them, in a general way, intensely unamusing. I +turn from them to the unconscious brutes, and often get a world +of enjoyment. To watch a kitten or a puppy play, or the +funny antics of a parrot or a cockatoo, or the wise movements of +a wombat, will keep me for hours from being bored.’</p> +<p>‘And children,’ I said—‘do you like +children?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, so long as they remain like the young +animals—until they become self-conscious, I mean, and that +is very soon. Then their charm goes. Has it ever +occurred to you how fascinating a beautiful young girl would be +if she were as unconscious as a young animal? What makes +you sigh?’</p> +<p>My thoughts had flown to Winifred breakfasting with her +‘Prince of the Mist’ on Snowdon. And I said to +myself, ‘How he would have been fascinated by a sight like +that!’</p> +<p>My experience of men at that time was so slight that the +opinion I then formed of D’Arcy as a talker was not of much +account. But since then I have seen very much of men, and I +find that I was right in the view I then took of his +conversational powers. When his spirits were at their +highest he was without an equal as a wit, without an equal as a +humourist. He had more than even Cyril Aylwin’s +quickness of repartee, and it was of an incomparably rarer +quality. To define it would be, of course, impossible, but +I might perhaps call it poetic fancy suddenly stimulated at +moments by animal spirits into rapid movements—so rapid, +indeed, that what in slower movement would be merely fancy, in +him became wit. <a name="page169"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 169</span>Beneath the coruscations of this wit +a rare and deep intellect was always perceptible.</p> +<p>His humour was also so fanciful that it seemed poetry at play, +but here was the remarkable thing: although he was not +unconscious of his other gifts, he did not seem to be in the +least aware that he was a humourist of the first order; every +‘jeu d’esprit’ seemed to leap from him +involuntarily, like the spray from a fountain. A dull man +like myself must not attempt to reproduce these qualities +here.</p> +<p>While he was talking he kept on painting.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>Chapter XII<br /> +WILLIAM MORRIS</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is natural after writing about +Rossetti to think of William Morris. In my opinion the +masterpiece among all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +‘Athenæum’ monographs is the one upon +him. Between these two there was an intimacy of the closest +kind—from 1873 to the day of the poet’s death. +This, no doubt, apart from Mr. Watts-Dunton’s graphic +power, accounts for the extraordinary vividness of the portrait +of his friend. I have heard more than one eminent friend of +William Morris say that from a few paragraphs of this monograph a +reader gains a far more vivid picture of this fascinating man +than is to be gained from reading and re-reading anything else +that has been published about him. It is a grievous loss to +literature that the man so fully equipped for writing a biography +of Morris is scarcely likely to write one. Morris, when he +was busy in Queen’s Square, used to be one of the most +frequent visitors at the gatherings at Danes Inn with Mr. +Swinburne, Dr. Westland Marston, Madox Brown, and others, on +Wednesday evenings; and he and Mr. Watts-Dunton were frequently +together at Kelmscott during the time of the joint occupancy of +the old Manor house, and also after Rossetti’s death.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p172b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Kelmscott Manor. (From a Water Colour by Miss May Morris.)" +title= +"Kelmscott Manor. (From a Water Colour by Miss May Morris.)" +src="images/p172s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>When Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote ‘Aylwin’ he did not +contemplate that the Hurstcote of the story would immediately be +identified with Kelmscott Manor. The <a +name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>pictures of +localities and the descriptions of the characters were so vivid +that Hurstcote was at once identified with Kelmscott, and +D’Arcy was at once identified with Rossetti. +Morris’s passion for angling is slightly introduced in the +later chapters of the book, and this is not surprising, for some +of the happiest moments of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s life were +spent at Kelmscott. Treffry Dunn’s portrait of him, +sitting on a fallen tree beside the back-water, was painted at +Kelmscott, and the scenery and the house are admirably rendered +in the picture.</p> +<p>Mr. Hake, in ‘Notes and Queries’ (June 7, 1902) +mentions some interesting facts with regard to ‘Hurstcote +Manor’ and Morris:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Morris, whom I had the privilege of knowing +very well, and with whom I have stayed at Kelmscott during the +Rossetti period, is alluded to in ‘Aylwin’ (chap. lx. +book xv.) as the ‘enthusiastic angler’ who used to go +down to ‘Hurstcote’ to fish. At that time this +fine old seventeenth century manor house was in the joint +occupancy of Rossetti and Morris. Afterwards it was in the +joint occupancy of Morris and (a beloved friend of the two) the +late F. S. Ellis, who, with Mr. Cockerell, was executor under +Morris’s will. The series of ‘large attics in +which was a number of enormous oak beams’ supporting the +antique roof, was a favourite resort of my own; but all the +ghostly noise that I there heard was the snoring of young +owls—a peculiar sound that had a special fascination for +Rossetti; and after dinner Rossetti, my brother, and I, or Mr. +Watts-Dunton and I, would go to the attics to listen to them.</p> +<p>With regard to ‘Hurstcote’ I well knew ‘the +large bedroom, with low-panelled walls and the vast antique <a +name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>bedstead +made of black carved oak’ upon which Winifred Wynne +slept. In fact, the only thing in the description of this +room that I do not remember is the beautiful ‘Madonna and +Child,’ upon the frame of which was written ‘Chiaro +dell’ Erma’ (readers of ‘Hand and Soul’ +will remember that name). I wonder whether it is a Madonna +by Parmigiano, belonging to Mr. Watts-Dunton, which was much +admired by Leighton and others, and which has been +exhibited. This quaint and picturesque bedroom leads by two +or three steps to the tapestried room ‘covered with old +faded tapestry—so faded, indeed, that its general effect +was that of a dull grey texture’—depicting the story +of Samson. Rossetti used the tapestry room as a studio, and +I have seen in it the very same pictures that so attracted the +attention of Winifred Wynne: the ‘grand brunette’ +(painted from Mrs. Morris) ‘holding a pomegranate in her +hand’; the ‘other brunette, whose beautiful eyes are +glistening and laughing over the fruit she is holding up’ +(painted from the same famous Irish beauty, named Smith, who +appears in ‘The Beloved’), and the blonde +‘under the apple blossoms’ (painted from a still more +beautiful woman—Mrs. Stillman). These pictures were +not permanently placed there, but, as it chanced, they were there +(for retouching) on a certain occasion when I was visiting at +Kelmscott.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Among the remarkable men that Mr. Watts-Dunton used to meet at +Kelmscott, was Morris’s friend, Dr. John Henry Middleton, +Slade Professor of Fine Art in the University of Cambridge and +Art Director of the South Kensington Museum—a man of +extraordinary gifts, who promised to be one of the foremost of +the scholarly writers of our time, but who died +prematurely. <a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>Some of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s anecdotes of the +causeries at Kelmscott between Morris, Middleton, and himself, +are so interesting that it is a pity they have never been +recorded in print. Middleton was one of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s collaborators in the ninth edition of the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ to which he +contributed the article on ‘Rome,’ one of the finest +essays in that work.</p> +<p>Morris was notoriously indifferent to critical expressions +about his work; and he used to declare that the only reviews of +his works which he ever took the trouble to read were the reviews +by Mr. Watts-Dunton in the ‘Athenæum.’ +And the poet, might well say this, for those who have studied, as +I have, those elaborate and brilliant essays upon +‘Sigurd,’ ‘The House of the Wolfings,’ +‘The Roots of the Mountains,’ ‘The Glittering +Plain,’ ‘The Well at the World’s End,’ +‘The Tale of Beowulf,’ ‘News from +Nowhere,’ ‘Poems by the Way,’ will be inclined +to put them at the top of all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s purely +critical work. The ‘Quarterly Review,’ in the +article upon Morris, makes allusion to the relations between Mr. +Watts-Dunton and Morris; so does the writer of the admirable +article upon Morris in the new edition of Chambers’s +‘Cyclopædia of English Literature.’ I +record these facts, not in order to depreciate the work of other +men, but as a justification for the extracts I am going to make +from Mr. Watts-Dunton’s monograph in the +‘Athenæum.’</p> +<p>The article contains these beautiful meditations on Pain and +Death:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Each time that I saw him he declared, in +answer to my inquiries, that he suffered no pain whatever. +And a comforting thought this is to us all—that Morris +suffered no pain. To Death himself we may easily be +reconciled—<a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +174</span>nay, we might even look upon him as Nature’s +final beneficence to all her children, if it were not for the +cruel means he so often employs in fulfilling his inevitable +mission. The thought that Morris’s life had ended in +the tragedy of pain—the thought that he to whom work was +sport, and generosity the highest form of enjoyment, suffered +what some men suffer in shuffling off the mortal coil—would +have been intolerable almost. For among the thousand and +one charms of the man, this, perhaps, was the chief, that Nature +had endowed him with an enormous capacity of enjoyment, and that +Circumstance, conspiring with Nature, said to him, +‘Enjoy.’ Born in easy circumstances, though not +to the degrading trouble of wealth—cherishing as his +sweetest possessions a devoted wife and two daughters, each of +them endowed with intelligence so rare as to understand a genius +such as his—surrounded by friends, some of whom were among +the first men of our time, and most of whom were of the very salt +of the earth—it may be said of him that Misfortune, if she +touched him at all, never struck home. If it is true, as +Mérimée affirms, that men are hastened to maturity +by misfortune, who wanted Morris to be mature? Who wanted +him to be other than the radiant boy of genius that he remained +till the years had silvered his hair and carved wrinkles on his +brow, but left his blue-grey eyes as bright as when they first +opened on the world? Enough for us to think that the man +must, indeed, be specially beloved by the gods who in his +sixty-third year dies young. Old age Morris could not have +borne with patience. Pain would not have developed him into +a hero. This beloved man, who must have died some day, died +when his marvellous powers were at their best—and died +without pain. The scheme of life and death does not seem so +much awry, after all.</p> +<p><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>At +the last interview but one that ever I had with him—it was +in the little carpetless room from which so much of his best work +was turned out—he himself surprised me by leading the +conversation upon a subject he rarely chose to talk +about—the mystery of life and death. The conversation +ended with these words of his: ‘I have enjoyed my +life—few men more so—and death in any case is +sure.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is in this same vivid word-picture that occur Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s reflections upon the wear and tear of +genius:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It is difficult not to think that the cause +of causes of his death was excessive exercise of all his forces, +especially of the imaginative faculty. When I talked to +him, as I often did, of the peril of such a life of tension as +his, he pooh-poohed the idea. ‘Look at +Gladstone,’ he would say, ‘look at those wise owls +your chancellors and your judges. Don’t they live all +the longer for work? It is rust that kills men, not +work.’ No doubt he was right in contending that in +intellectual efforts such as those he alluded to, where the only +faculty drawn upon is the ‘dry light of +intelligence,’ a prodigious amount of work may be achieved +without any sapping of the sources of life. But is this so +where that fusion of all the faculties which we call genius is +greatly taxed? I doubt it. In all true imaginative +production there is, as De Quincey pointed out many years ago, a +movement, not of ‘the thinking machine’ only, but of +the whole man—the whole ‘genial’ nature of the +worker—his imagination, his judgment, moving in an +evolution of lightning velocity from the whole of the work to the +part, from the part to the whole, together with every emotion of +the soul. Hence when, as in the case of Walter Scott, of <a +name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>Charles +Dickens, and presumably of Shakespeare too, the emotional nature +of Man is overtaxed, every part of the frame suffers, and cries +out in vain for its share of that nervous fluid which is the true +vis vitæ.</p> +<p>We have only to consider the sort of work Morris produced, and +its amount, to realize that no human powers could continue to +withstand such a strain. Many are of opinion that +‘The Lovers of Gudrun’ is his finest poem; he worked +at it from four o’clock in the morning till four in the +afternoon, and when he rose from the table he had produced 750 +lines! Think of the forces at work in producing a poem like +‘Sigurd.’ Think of the mingling of the drudgery +of the Dryasdust with the movements of an imaginative vision +unsurpassed in our time; think, I say, of the collating of the +‘Volsunga Saga’ with the +‘Nibelungenlied,’ the choosing of this point from the +Saga-man, and of that point from the later poem of the Germans, +and then fusing the whole by imaginative heat into the greatest +epic of the nineteenth century. Was there not work enough +here for a considerable portion of a poet’s life? And +yet so great is the entire mass of his work that +‘Sigurd’ is positively overlooked in many of the +notices of his writings which have appeared in the last few days +in the press, while in the others it is alluded to in three +words; and this simply because the mass of other matter to be +dealt with fills up all the available space of a +newspaper.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton’s critical acumen is nowhere more +strikingly seen than in his remarks upon Morris’s +translation of the Odyssey:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Some competent critics are dissatisfied +with Morris’s translation; yet in a certain sense it is a +triumph. The two specially Homeric qualities—those, +indeed, which <a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>set Homer apart from all other poets—are +eagerness and dignity. Never again can they be fully +combined, for never again will poetry be written in the Greek +hexameters and by a Homer. That Tennyson could have given +us the Homeric dignity his magnificent rendering of a famous +fragment of the Iliad shows. Chapman’s translations +show that the eagerness also can be caught. Morris, of +course, could not have given the dignity of Homer, but then, +while Tennyson has left us only a few lines speaking with the +dignity of the Iliad, Morris gave us a translation of the entire +Odyssey, which, though it missed the Homeric dignity, secured the +eagerness as completely as Chapman’s free-and-easy +paraphrase, and in a rendering as literal as Buckley’s +prose crib, which lay frankly by Morris’s side as he wrote. +. . . Morris’s translation of the Odyssey and his +translation of Virgil, where he gives us an almost word-for-word +translation and yet throws over the poem a glamour of romance +which brings Virgil into the sympathy of the modern reader, would +have occupied years with almost any other poet. But these +two efforts of his genius are swamped by the purely original +poems, such as ‘The Defence of Guenevere,’ +‘Jason,’ ‘The Earthly Paradise,’ +‘Love is Enough,’ ‘Poems by the Way,’ +etc. And then come his translations from the +Icelandic. Mere translation is, of course, easy enough, but +not such translation as that in the ‘Saga +Library.’ Allowing for all the aid he got from Mr. +Magnusson, what a work this is! Think of the imaginative +exercise required to turn the language of these Saga-men into a +diction so picturesque and so concrete as to make each Saga an +English poem—for poem each one is, if Aristotle is right in +thinking that imaginative substance and not metre is the first +requisite of a poem.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>In +connection with William Morris, readers of ‘The Coming of +Love’ will recall the touching words in the +‘Prefatory Note’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Had it not been for the intervention of +matters of a peculiarly absorbing kind—matters which caused +me to delay the task of collecting these verses—I should +have been the most favoured man who ever brought out a volume of +poems, for they would have been printed by William Morris, at the +Kelmscott Press. As that projected edition of his was +largely subscribed for, a word of explanation to the subscribers +is, I am told, required from me. Among the friends who saw +much of that great poet and beloved man during the last year of +his life, there was one who would not and could not believe that +he would die—myself. To me he seemed human vitality +concentrated to a point of quenchless light; and when the +appalling truth that he must die did at last strike through me, I +had no heart and no patience to think about anything in +connection with him but the loss that was to come upon us. +And, now, whatsoever pleasure I may feel at seeing my verses in +one of Mr. Lane’s inviting little volumes will be dimmed +and marred by the thought that Morris’s name also might +have been, and is not, on the imprint.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As a matter of fact this incident in the publication of +‘The Coming of Love’ is an instance of that artistic +conscientiousness which up to a certain point is of inestimable +value to the poet, but after that point is reached, baffles +him. The poem had been read in fragments and deeply admired +by that galaxy of poets among whom Mr. Watts-Dunton moved. +Certain fragments of it had appeared in the +‘Athenæum’ and other journals, but <a +name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>the +publication of the entire poem had been delayed owing to the fact +that certain portions of it had been lent and lost. Morris +not only offered to bring out at the Kelmscott Press an +édition de luxe of the book, but he actually took the +trouble to get a full list of subscribers, and insisted upon +allowing the author a magnificent royalty. Nothing, +however, would persuade Mr. Watts-Dunton to bring out the book +until these lost portions could be found, and notwithstanding the +generous urgings of Morris, the matter stood still; and then, +when the book was ready, Morris was seized by that illness which +robbed us of one of the greatest writers of the nineteenth +century. And even after Morris’s death the +poet’s executors and friends, the late Mr. F. S. Ellis and +the well-known bibliographer, Mr. Sydney C. Cockerell, were +willing and even desirous that the Kelmscott edition of the poems +should be brought out. Subsequently, when a large portion +of the lost poems was found, the volume was published by Mr. John +Lane. This anecdote alone explains why Mr. Watts-Dunton is +never tired of dwelling upon the nobility of Morris’s +nature, and upon his generosity in small things as well as in +large.</p> +<p>Another favourite story of his in connection with this subject +is the following. When Morris published his first volume in +the Kelmscott Press, he sent Mr. Watts-Dunton a presentation copy +of the book. He also sent him a presentation copy of the +second and third. But knowing how small was the profit at +this time from the books issued by the Kelmscott Press, Mr. +Watts-Dunton felt a little delicacy in taking these presentation +copies, and told Mrs. Morris that she should gently protest +against such extravagance. Mrs. Morris assured him that it +would be perfectly useless to do so. <a +name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>But when +the edition of Keats was coming out, Mr. Watts-Dunton determined +to grapple with the matter, and one Sunday afternoon when he was +at Kelmscott House, he said to Morris:</p> +<p>‘Morris, I wish you to put my name down as a subscriber +to the Keats, and I give my commission for it in the presence of +witnesses. I am a paying subscriber to the +Keats.’</p> +<p>‘All right, old chap, you’re a +subscriber.’</p> +<p>In spite of this there came the usual presentation copy of the +Keats; and when Mr. Watts-Dunton was at Kelmscott House on the +following Sunday afternoon, he told Morris that a mistake had +been made. Morris laughed.</p> +<p>‘All right, there’s no mistake—that is my +presentation copy of Keats.’</p> +<p>But when at last the magnum opus of the Kelmscott Press was +being discussed—the marvellous Chaucer with +Burne-Jones’s illustrations—Mr. Watts-Dunton knew +that here a great deal of money was to be risked, and probably +sunk, and he said to Morris:</p> +<p>‘Now, Morris, I’m going to talk to you seriously +about the Chaucer. I know that it’s going to be a +dead loss to you, and I do really and seriously hope that you do +not contemplate anything so wild as to send me a presentation +copy of that book. You know my affection for you, and you +know I speak the truth, when I tell you that it would give me +pain to accept it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, old chap, very likely this time I shall have to +stay my hand, for, between ourselves, I expect I shall drop some +money over it; but the Chaucer will be at The Pines, because Ned +Jones and I are going to join in the presentation of a copy to +Algernon Swinburne.’</p> +<p>After this Mr. Watts-Dunton’s mind was set at rest, as +he told Mrs. Morris. But when Mr. Swinburne’s <a +name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>copy +reached ‘The Pines’ it was accompanied by another +one—‘Theodore Watts-Dunton from William +Morris.’</p> +<p>Another anecdote, illustrative of his generosity, Mr. +Watts-Dunton also tells. Mr. Swinburne, wishing to possess +a copy of ‘The Golden Legend,’ bought the Kelmscott +edition, and one day Mr. Watts-Dunton told Morris this. +Morris gave a start as though a sudden pain had struck him.</p> +<p>‘What! Algernon pay ten pounds for a book of +mine! Why I thought he did not care for black letter +reproductions, or I would have sent him a copy of every book I +brought out.’</p> +<p>And when he did bring out another book, two copies were sent +to ‘The Pines,’ one for Mr. Watts-Dunton and one for +Mr. Swinburne.</p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton, speaking about ‘The Water of the +Wondrous Isles,’ tells this amusing story:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Once, many years ago, Morris was inveigled +into seeing and hearing the great poet-singer Stead, whose +rhythms have had such a great effect upon the ‘art +poetic,’ the author of ‘The Perfect Cure,’ and +‘It’s Daddy this and Daddy that,’ and other +brilliant lyrics. A friend with whom Morris had been +spending the evening, and who had been talking about poetic +energy and poetic art in relation to the chilly reception +accorded to ‘Sigurd,’ persuaded him—much +against his will—to turn in for a few seconds to see Mr. +Stead, whose performance consisted of singing a song, the burden +of which was ‘I’m a perfect cure!’ while he +leaped up into the air without bending his legs and twirled round +like a dervish. ‘What made you bring me to see this +damned tomfoolery?’ Morris grumbled; and on being told that +it <a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>was +to give him an example of poetic energy at its tensest, without +poetic art, he grumbled still more and shouldered his way +out. If Morris were now alive—and all England will +sigh, ‘Ah, would he were!’—he would confess, +with his customary emphasis, that the poet had nothing of the +slightest importance to learn, even from the rhythms of Mr. +Stead, marked as they were by terpsichorean pauses that were +beyond the powers of the ‘Great Vance.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>Chapter XIII<br /> +THE ‘EXAMINER’</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Long</span> before Mr. Watts-Dunton +printed a line, he was a prominent figure in the literary and +artistic sets in London; but, as Mr. Hake has said, it was merely +as a conversationalist that he was known. His conversation +was described by Rossetti as being like that of no other person +moving in literary circles, because he was always enunciating new +views in phrasings so polished that, to use Rossetti’s +words, his improvized locutions were as perfect as ‘fitted +jewels.’ Those who have been privileged to listen to +his table-talk will attest the felicity of the image. +Seldom has so great a critic had so fine an audience. +Rossetti often lamented that Theodore Watts’ spoken +criticism had never been taken down in shorthand. For a +long time various editors who had met him at Rossetti’s, at +Madox Brown’s, at Westland Marston’s, at +Whistler’s breakfasts, and at the late Lord +Houghton’s, endeavoured to persuade him to make practical +use in criticism of the ideas that flowed in a continuous stream +from his lips. But, as Rossetti used to affirm, he was the +one man of his time who, with immense literary equipment, was +without literary ambition. This peculiarity of his was +eloquently described by the late Dr. Gordon Hake in his +‘New Day’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>You say you care not for the people’s +praise,<br /> + That poetry is its own recompense;<br /> +You care not for the wreath, the dusty bays,<br /> + Given to the whirling wind and hurried hence.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>The +first editor who secured Theodore Watts, after repeated efforts +to do so, was the late Professor Minto, and this only came about +because during his editorship of the ‘Examiner’ both +he and Watts resided in Danes Inn, and were constantly seeing +each other.</p> +<p>It was Minto who afterwards declared that “the articles +in the ‘Examiner’ and the +‘Athenæum’ are goldmines, in which we others +are apt to dig unconsciously without remembering that the nuggets +are Theodore Watts’s, who is too lazy to peg out his +claim.” The first article by him that appeared in +Minto’s paper attracted great attention and roused great +curiosity. This indeed is not surprising, for, as I found +when I read it, it was as remarkable for pregnancy of thought and +of style as the latest and ripest of his essays. A friend +of his, belonging to the set in which he moved, who remembers the +appearance of this article, has been kind enough to tell me the +following anecdote in connection with it. The contributors +to the paper at that time consisted of Minto, Dr Garnett, +Swinburne, Edmund Gosse, ‘Scholar’ Williams, Comyns +Carr, Walter Pollock, Duffield (the translator of ‘Don +Quixote’), Professor Sully, Dr. Marston, William Bell +Scott, William Black, and many other able writers. On the +evening of the day when Theodore Watts’s first article +appeared, there was a party at the house of William Bell Scott in +Chelsea, and every one was asking who this new contributor +was. It was one of the conditions under which the article +was written that its authorship was to be kept a secret. +Bell Scott, who took a great interest in the +‘Examiner,’ was especially inquisitive about the new +writer. After having in vain tried to get from Minto the +name of the writer, he went up to Watts, and said: “I would +give almost anything to know who the writer <a +name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>is who +appears in the ‘Examiner’ for the first time +today.” “What makes you inquire about +it?” said Watts. “What is the interest +attaching to the writer of such fantastic stuff as that? +Surely it is the most mannered writing that has appeared in the +‘Examiner’ for a long time!” Then, +turning to Minto, he said: “I can’t think, Minto, +what made you print it at all.” Scott, who had a most +exalted opinion of Watts as a critic, was considerably abashed at +this, and began to endeavour to withdraw some of his enthusiastic +remarks. This set Minto laughing aloud, and thus the secret +got out.</p> +<p>From that hour Watts became the most noticeable writer among a +group of critics who were all noticeable. Week after week +there appeared in this historic paper criticism as fine as had +ever appeared in it in the time of Leigh Hunt, and as brilliant +as had appeared in it in the time of Fonblanque. At this +time Minto used to entertain his contributors on Monday evening +in the room over the publisher’s office in the Strand, and +I have been told by one who was frequently there that these +smoking symposia were among the most brilliant in London. +One can well imagine this when one remembers the names of those +who used to attend the meetings.</p> +<p>It was through the ‘Examiner’ that Watts formed +that friendship with William Black which his biographer, Sir +Wemyss Reid, alludes to. Between these two there was one +subject on which they were especially in sympathy—their +knowledge and love of nature. At that time Black was +immensely popular. In personal appearance there was, I am +told, a superficial resemblance between the two, and they were +constantly being mistaken for each other; and yet, when they were +side by side, it was evident that the large, dark moustache and +the black eyes were almost the only points of resemblance between +them.</p> +<p><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>It +was at the then famous house in Gower Street of Mr. Justin +McCarthy that Black and Mr. Watts-Dunton first met. +Speaking as an Irishman of a younger but not, I fear, of so +genial a generation, I hear tantalizing accounts of the popular +gatherings at the home of the most charming and the most +distinguished Irishman of letters in the London of that time, +where so many young men of my own country were welcomed as warmly +as though they had not yet to win their spurs. No one +speaks more enthusiastically of the McCarthy family than Mr. +Watts-Dunton, who seems to have been on terms of friendship with +them almost as soon as he settled in London. Mr. +Watts-Dunton was always a lover of McCarthy’s novels, but +on his first visit to Gower Street Mr. McCarthy was, as usual, +full of the subject not of his own novels, but of another +man’s. He urged his new friend to read ‘Under +the Greenwood Tree,’ almost forcing him to take the book +away with him, which he did: this was the way in which Mr. +Watts-Dunton became for the first time acquainted with a story +which he always avers is the only book that has ever revived the +rich rustic humour of Shakespeare’s early comedies. A +perfect household of loving natures, warm Irish hearts, bright +Irish intellects, cultivated and rare, according to Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s testimony, was that little family in Gower +Street. I think he will pardon me for repeating one quaint +little story about himself and Black in connection with this +first visit to the McCarthys. On entering the room Mr. +Watts-Dunton was much struck with what appeared to be real +musical genius in a bright-eyed little lady who was delighting +the party with her music. This was at the period in his own +life which Mr. Watts-Dunton calls his ‘music-mad +period.’ And after a time he got <a +name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>talking +with the lady. He was a little surprised that he was at +once invited by the musical lady to go to a gathering at her +house. But he was as much pleased as surprised to be so +welcomed, and incontinently accepted the invitation. It +never entered his mind that he had been mistaken for another man, +until the other man entered the room and came up to the +lady. She, on her part, began to look in an embarrassed way +from one to the other of the two swarthy, black-moustached +gentlemen. She had mistaken Mr. Watts-Dunton for William +Black, with whom her acquaintance was but slight. The +contretemps caused much amusement when the husband of the lady, +an eminent novelist, who knew Mr. Watts-Dunton well, introduced +him to his wife. I do not know what was the end of the +comedy, but no doubt it was a satisfactory one. It could +not be otherwise among such people as Justin McCarthy would be +likely to gather round him.</p> +<p>At that time, to quote the words of the same friend of Mr. +Watts-Dunton, Watts used frequently to meet at Bell Scott’s +and Rossetti’s Professor Appleton, the editor of the +‘Academy.’ The points upon which these two +touched were as unlike the points upon which Watts and William +Black touched as could possibly be. They were both students +of Hegel; and when they met, Appleton, who had Hegel on the +brain, invariably drew Watts aside for a long private talk. +People used to leave them alone, on account of the remoteness of +the subject that attracted the two. Watts had now made up +his mind that he would devote himself to literature, and, indeed, +his articles in the ‘Examiner’ showed that he had +only to do so to achieve a great success. Appleton rarely +left Watts without saying, “I do wish you would write for +the ‘Academy.’ I want you to let me send you +all <a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>the +books on the transcendentalists that come to the +‘Academy,’ and let me have articles giving the pith +of them at short intervals.” This invitation to +furnish the ‘Academy’ with a couple of columns +condensing the spirit of many books about subjects upon which +only a handful of people in England were competent to write, +seemed to Watts a grotesque request, seeing that he was at this +very time the leading writer on the ‘Examiner,’ and +was being constantly approached by other editors. It was +consequently the subject of many a joke between Minto, William +Black, Watts, and the others present at the famous +‘Examiner’ gatherings. After a while Mr. Norman +MacColl, who was then the editor of the +‘Athenæum,’ invited Watts to take an important +part in the reviewing for the ‘Athenæum.’ +At first he told the editor that there were two obstacles to his +accepting the invitation—one was that the work that he was +invited to do was largely done by his friend Marston, and that, +although he would like to join him, he scarcely saw his way, on +account of the ‘Examiner,’ which was ready to take +all the work he could produce. On opening the matter to Dr +Marston, that admirably endowed writer would not hear of +Watts’s considering him in the matter. The +‘Athenæum’ was then, as now, the leading +literary organ in Europe, and the editor’s offer was, of +course, a very tempting one, and Watts was determined to tell +Minto about it. And this he did.</p> +<p>“Now, Minto,” he said, “it rests entirely +with you whether I shall write in the +‘Athenæum’ or not.” Minto, between +whom and Watts there was a deep affection, made the following +reply:</p> +<p>“My dear Theodore, I need not say that it will not be a +good day for the ‘Examiner’ when you join the <a +name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>‘Athenæum.’ The +‘Examiner’ is a struggling paper which could not live +without being subsidized by Peter Taylor, and it is not four +months ago since Leicester Warren said to me that he and all the +other readers of the ‘Examiner’ looked eagerly for +the ‘T. W.’ at the foot of a literary article. +The ‘Athenæum’ is both a powerful and a wealthy +paper. In short, it will injure the ‘Examiner’ +when your name is associated with the +‘Athenæum.’ But to be the leading voice +of such a paper as that is just what you ought to be, and I +cannot help advising you to entertain MacColl’s +proposal.”</p> +<p>In consequence of this Mr. Watts-Dunton closed with Mr. +MacColl’s offer, and his first article in the +‘Athenæum’ appeared on July 8, 1876.</p> +<h2><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>Chapter XIV<br /> +THE ‘ATHENÆUM’</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">As</span> the first review which Mr. +Watts-Dunton contributed to the ‘Athenæum’ has +been so often discussed, and as it is as characteristic as any +other of his style, I have determined to reprint it entire. +It has the additional interest, I believe, of being the most +rapidly executed piece of literary work which Mr. Watts-Dunton +ever achieved. Mr. MacColl, having secured the new writer, +tried to find a book for him, and failed, until Mr. Watts-Dunton +asked him whether he intended to give an article upon +Skelton’s ‘Comedy of the Noctes +Ambrosianæ.’ The editor said that he had not +thought of giving the book a considerable article, but that, if +Mr. Watts-Dunton liked to take it, it should be sent to +him. As the article was wanted on the following day, it was +dictated as fast as the amanuensis—not a shorthand +writer—could take it down.</p> +<p>It has no relation to the Renascence of Wonder, nor is it one +of his great essays, such as the one on the Psalms, or his essays +on Victor Hugo, but in style it is as characteristic as +any:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Is it really that the great squeezing of +books has at last begun? Here, at least, is the +‘Noctes Ambrosianæ’ squeezed into one +volume.</p> +<p>Long ago we came upon an anecdote in Castellan, the subject of +which, as far as we remember, is this. <a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>The library +of the Indian kings was composed of so many volumes that a +thousand camels were necessary to remove it. But once on a +time a certain prince who loved reading much and other pleasures +more, called a Brahmin to him, and said: ‘Books are good, O +Brahmin, even as women are good, yet surely, of both these goods +a prince may have too many; and then, O Brahmin, which of these +two vexations is sorest to princely flesh it were hard to say; +but as to the books, O Brahmin, squeeze ’em!’ +The Brahmin, understanding well what the order to ‘squeeze +’em’ meant (for he was a bookman himself, and knew +that, as there goes much water and little flavour to the making +of a very big pumpkin, so there go much words and few thoughts to +the making of a very big book), set to work, aided by many +scribes—striking out all the idle words from every book in +the library; and when the essence of them had been extracted it +was found that ten camels could carry that library without +ruffling a hair. And therefore the Brahmin was appointed +‘Grand Squeezer’ of the realm. Ages after this, +another prince, who loved reading much and other pleasures a good +deal more, called the Grand Squeezer of his time and said: +‘Thy duties are neglected, O Grand Squeezer! Thy life +depends upon the measure of thy squeezing.’ Thereupon +the Grand Squeezer, in fear and trembling, set to work and +squeezed and squeezed till the whole library became at last a +load that a foal would have laughed at, for it consisted but of +one book, a tiny volume, containing four maxims. Yet the +wisdom in the last library was the wisdom in the first.</p> +<p>The appearance of Mr. Skelton’s condensation of the +‘Noctes Ambrosianæ’ reminds us of this story, +and of a certain solemn warning we always find it our <a +name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>duty to +administer to those who show a propensity towards the baneful +coxcombry of authorship—the warning that the literature of +our country is already in a fair way of dying for the want of a +Grand Squeezer, and that unless such a functionary be appointed +within the next ten years, it will be smothered by itself. +Yet our Government will keep granting pension after pension to +those whom the Duke of Wellington used to call ‘the writing +fellows,’ for adding to the camel’s burden, instead +of distributing the same amount among an army of diligent and +well-selected squeezers. We say an army of squeezers, for +it is not merely that almost every man, woman, and child among us +who can write, prints, while nobody reads, and, to judge from the +‘spelling bees,’ nobody even spells, but that the +fecundity of man as a ‘writing animal’ is on the +increase, and each one requires a squeezer to himself. This +is the alarming thing. Where are we to find so many +squeezers? Nay, in many cases there needs a separate +sub-squeezer for the writer’s every book. Take, for +instance, the case of the Carlyle squeezer—what more could +be expected from him in a lifetime than that he should squeeze +‘Frederick the Great’—that enormous, rank and +pungent ‘haggis’ from which, properly squeezed, such +an ocean would flow of ‘oniony liquid’ that compared +with it the famous ‘haggis-deluge’ of the +‘Noctes’ which nearly drowned in gravy +‘Christopher,’ ‘the Shepherd,’ and +‘Tickler’ in Ambrose’s parlour, would be, both +for quantity and flavour, but ‘a beaker full of the sweet +South’? Yet what would be the squeezing of Mr. +Carlyle; what would be the squeezing of De Quincey, or of Landor, +or of Southey, to the squeezing of the tremendous Professor +Wilson—the mighty Christopher, who for about thirty years +literally <a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>talked in type upon every matter of which he had any +knowledge, and upon every matter of which he had none; whose +‘words, words, words’ are, indeed, as Hallam, with +unconscious irony, says, ‘as the rush of mighty +waters’?</p> +<p>What would be left after the squeezing of him it would be hard +to guess; for, says the Chinese proverb, ‘if what is said +be not to the purpose, a single word is already too +much.’</p> +<p>Mr. Skelton should have borne this maxim in mind in his +manipulations upon the ‘Noctes +Ambrosianæ.’ He loves the memory of the fine +old Scotsman, and has squeezed this enormous pumpkin with fingers +that are too timid of grip. In squeezing Professor Wilson +you cannot overdo it. There are certain parts we should +have especially liked squeezed away; and among these—will +Mr. Skelton pardon us?—are the ‘amazingly +humourous’ ones, such as the ‘opening of the +haggis,’ which, Mr. Skelton tells us, ‘manifests the +humour of conception as well as the humour of character, in a +measure that has seldom been surpassed by the greatest +masters’; ‘the amazing humour’ of which +consists in the Shepherd’s sticking his supper knife into a +‘haggis’ (a sheep’s paunch filled with the +‘pluck’ minced, with suet, onions, salt, and pepper), +and thereby setting free such a flood of gravy that the whole +party have to jump upon the chairs and tables to save themselves +from being drowned in it! In truth, Mr. Skelton should have +reversed his method of selection; and if, in operating upon the +Professor’s twelve remaining volumes, he will, instead of +retaining, omit everything ‘amazingly humourous,’ he +will be the best Wilson-squeezer imaginable.</p> +<p>Yet, his intentions here were as good as could be. The +‘Noctes’ are dying of dropsy, so Mr. Skelton, to <a +name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>save them, +squeezes away all the political events—so important once, +so unimportant now—all the foolish laudation, and more +foolish abuse of those who took part in them. He eliminates +all the critiques upon all those ‘greatest poems’ and +those ‘greatest novels of the age’ written by +Christopher’s friends—friends so famous once, so +peacefully forgotten now. And he has left what he calls the +‘Comedy of the Noctes Ambrosianæ,’ i.e. +‘that portion of the work which deals with or presents +directly and dramatically to the reader, human life, and +character, and passion, as distinguished from that portion of it +which is critical, and devoted to the discussion of subjects of +literary, artistic, or political interest only.’ And, +although Mr. Skelton uses thus the word ‘comedy’ in +its older and wider meaning, it is evident that it is as an +‘amazing humourist’ that he would present to our +generation the great Christopher North. And assuredly, at +this the ‘delighted spirit’ of Christopher smiles +delightedly in Hades. For, however the ‘Comic +Muse’ may pout upon hearing from Mr. Skelton that +‘the “Noctes Ambrosianæ” belong to +her,’ it is clear that the one great desire of +Wilson’s life was to cultivate her—was to be an +‘amazing humourist,’ in short. It is clear, +besides, that there was one special kind of humour which he most +of all affected, that which we call technically +‘Rabelaisian.’ To have gone down to posterity +as the great English Rabelaisian of the nineteenth century, +Christopher North would have freely given all his deserved fame +as a prose poet, and all the thirty thousand pounds hard cash of +which he was despoiled to boot. His personality was +enormous. He had more of that demonic element—of +which since Goethe’s time we have heard so much—than +any man in Scotland. Everybody seems to have been dominated +<a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 195</span>by +him. De Quincey, with a finer intellect than even his +own—and that is using strong language—looked up to +him as a spaniel looks up to his master. It is positively +ludicrous, while reading De Quincey’s ‘Autobiographic +Sketches,’ to come again and again upon the naïve +refrain: ‘I think so, so does Professor +Wilson.’ Gigantic as was the egotism of the +Opium-eater, it was overshadowed by the still more gigantic +egotism of Christopher North. In this, as in everything +else, he was the opposite of the finest Scottish humourist since +Burns, Sir Walter Scott. Scott’s desire was to create +eccentric humourous characters, but to remain the simple Scottish +gentleman himself. Wilson’s great ambition was to be +an eccentric humourous character himself; for your superlative +egotist has scarcely even the wish to create. He would like +the universe to himself. If Wilson had created Falstaff, +and if you had expressed to him your admiration of the +truthfulness of that character, he would have taken you by the +shoulder and said, with a smile: ‘Don’t you see, you +fool, that Falstaff is I—John Wilson?’ He +always wished it to be known that the Ettrick Shepherd and +Tickler were John Wilson—as much Wilson as Kit North +himself, or, rather, what he would have liked John Wilson to be +considered. This determination to be a humourous character +it was—and no lack of literary ambition—that caused +him to squander his astonishing powers in the way that Mr. +Skelton, and all of us who admire the man, lament.</p> +<p>Many articles in ‘Blackwood’—notably the one +upon Shakspeare’s four great tragedies and the one in which +he discusses Coleridge’s poetry—show that his insight +into the principles of literary art was true and deep—far +too true and deep for him to be ignorant of this inexorable law, +that nothing can live in literature <a name="page196"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 196</span>without form, nothing but humour; +but that, let this flowery crown of literature show itself in the +most formless kind of magazine-article or review-essay, and the +writer is secure of his place according to his merits.</p> +<p>Has Wilson secured such a place? We fear not; and if +Skelton were to ask us, on our oath, why Wilson’s fourteen +volumes of brilliant, eloquent, and picturesque writing are +already in a sadly moribund state, while such slight and +apparently fugitive essays as the ‘Coverley’ papers, +the essays of Elia, and the hurried review articles of Sydney +Smith, seem to have more vitality than ever, we fear that our +answer would have to be this bipartite one: first, that mere +elaborated intellectual ‘humour’ has the seeds of +dissolution in it from the beginning, while temperamental humour +alone can live; and, secondly, that Wilson was probably not +temperamentally a humourist at all, and certainly not +temperamentally a Rabelaisian. But let us, by way of excuse +for this rank blasphemy, say what precise meaning we attach to +the word ‘Rabelaisian’—though the subject is so +wide that there is no knowing whither it may lead us. +Without venturing upon a new definition of humour, this we will +venture to say, that true humour, that is to say, the humour of +temperament, is conveniently divisible into two kinds: Cervantic +humour, i.e. the amused, philosophic mood of the +dramatist—the comedian; and Rabelaisian humour, i.e. the +lawless abandonment of mirth, flowing mostly from exuberance of +health and animal spirits, with a strong recognition of the +absurdity of human life and the almighty joke of the +Cosmos—a mood which in literature is rarer than in +life—rarer, perhaps, because animal spirits are not the +common and characteristic accompaniments of the literary +temperament.</p> +<p><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>Of +Cervantic humour Wilson has, of course, absolutely nothing. +For this, the fairest flower in the garden, cannot often take +root, save in the most un-egotistic souls. It belongs to +the Chaucers, the Shakspeares, the Molières, the Addisons, +the Fieldings, the Steeles, the Scotts, the Miss Austens, the +George Eliots—upon whom the rich tides of the outer life +come breaking and drowning the egotism and yearning for +self-expression which is the life of smaller souls. Among +these—to whom to create is everything—Sterne would +perhaps have been greatest of all had he never known Hall +Stevenson, and never read Rabelais; while Dickens’s growth +was a development from Rabelaisianism to Cervantism. But +surely so delicate a critic as Mr. Skelton has often proved +himself to be, is not going to seriously tell us that there is +one ray of dramatic humour to be found in Wilson. Why, the +man had not even the mechanical skill of varying the locutions +and changing the styles of his two or three characters. +Even the humourless Plato could do that. Even the +humourless Landor could do that. But, strip the +‘Shepherd’s’ talk of its Scottish accent and it +is nothing but those same appalling mighty waters whose rush in +the ‘Recreations’ and the ‘Essays’ we are +so familiar with. While, as to his clumsy caricature of the +sesquipedalian language of De Quincey, that is such obtrusive +caricature that illusion seems to be purposely destroyed, and the +‘Opium-Eater’ becomes a fantastic creature of Farce, +and not of Comedy at all.</p> +<p>The ‘amazing humour’ of Wilson, then, is not +Cervantic. Is it Rabelaisian? Again, we fear +not. Very likely the genuine Rabelaisian does not commonly +belong to the ‘writing fellows’ at all. We have +had the good luck to come across two Rabelaisians in our +time. <a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>One was a lawyer, who hated literature with a beautiful +and a pathetic hatred. The other was a drunken cobbler, who +loved it with a beautiful and a pathetic love. And we have +just heard from one of our finest critics that a true Rabelaisian +is, at this moment, to be found—where he ought to be +found—at Stratford-on-Avon. This is +interesting. Yet, as there were heroes before Agamemnon, so +there were Rabelaisians, even among the ‘writing +fellows,’ before Rabelais; the greatest of them, of course, +being Aristophanes, though, from all we hear, it may be +reasonably feared that when Alcibiades, instead of getting +damages out of Eupolis for libel, ‘in a duck-pond drowned +him,’ he thereby extinguished for ever a Rabelaisian of the +very first rank. But we can only judge from what we have; +and, to say nothing of the tabooed Lysistrata, the +‘Birds’ alone puts Aristophanes at the top of all +pre-Rabelaisian Rabelaisians. But when those immortal words +came from that dying bed at Meudon: ‘Let down the curtain; +the farce is done,’ they were prophetic as regards the +literary Rabelaisians—prophetic in this, that no writer has +since thoroughly caught the Rabelaisian mood—the mood, that +is, of the cosmic humourist, gasping with merriment as he gobbles +huge piles of meat and guzzles from huge flagons of wine. +Yet, if his mantle has fallen upon no one pair of shoulders, a +corner of it has dropped upon several; for the great Curé +divides his qualities among his followers impartially, giving but +one to each, like the pine-apple in the ‘Paradise of +Fruits,’ from which every other fruit in the garden drew +its own peculiar flavour, and then charged its neighbour fruits +with stealing theirs. Among a few others, it may be said +that the cosmic humour has fallen to Swift (in whom, however, +earnestness half stifled it) Sterne, and <a +name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>Richter; +while the animal spirits—the love of life—the fine +passion for victuals and drink—has fallen to several more, +notably to Thomas Amory, the creator of ‘John +Buncle’; to Herrick, to old John Skelton, to Burns (in the +‘Jolly Beggars’), to John Skinner, the author of +‘Tullochgorum.’ Shakspeare, having everything, +has, of course, both sides of Rabelaisianism as well as +Cervantism. Some of the scenes in ‘Henry the +Fourth’ and ‘Henry the Fifth’ are rich with +it. So is ‘Twelfth Night,’ to go no +further. Dickens’s Rabelaisianism stopped with +‘Pickwick.’ If Hood’s gastric fluid had +been a thousand times stronger, he would have been the greatest +Rabelaisian since Rabelais. A good man, if his juices are +right, may grow into Cervantism, but you cannot grow into +Rabelaisianism. Neither can you simulate it without coming +to grief. Yet, of simulated Rabelaisianism all literature +is, alas! full, and this is how the simulators come to grief; +simulated cosmic humour becomes the self-conscious grimacing and +sad posture-making of the harlequin sage, such as we see in those +who make life hideous by imitating Mr. Carlyle. This is +bad. But far worse is simulated animal spirits, i.e. +jolly-doggism. This is insupportable. For we ask the +reader—who may very likely have been to an +undergraduates’ wine-party, or to a medical students’ +revel, or who may have read the ‘Noctes +Ambrosianæ’—we seriously and earnestly ask him +whether, among all the dreary things of this sometimes dreary +life, there is anything half so dreadful as jolly-doggism.</p> +<p>And now we come reluctantly to the point. It breaks our +heart to say to Mr. Skelton—for we believed in Professor +Wilson once—it breaks our heart to say that Wilson’s +Rabelaisianism is nothing but jolly-doggism of <a +name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>the most +prepense, affected, and piteous kind. In reading the +‘Noctes’ we feel, as Jefferson’s Rip van Winkle +must have felt, surrounded by the ghosts on the top of the +Katskill mountains. We say to ourselves, ‘How +comparatively comfortable we should feel if those bloodless, +marrowless spectres wouldn’t pretend to be jolly—if +they would not pretend to be enjoying their phantom bowls and +their ghostly liquor!’</p> +<p>Though John Skinner and Thomas Amory have but a small +endowment of the great master’s humour, their animal +spirits are genuine. They do not hop, skip, and jump for +effect. Their friskiness is the friskiness of the retriever +puppy when let loose; of the urchin who runs shrieking against +the shrieking wind in the unsyllabled tongue that all creatures +know, ‘I live, I live, I live!’ But, whatever +might have been the physical health of Wilson, there is a hollow +ring about the literary cheerfulness of the ‘Noctes’ +that, notwithstanding all that has been said to the contrary, +makes us think that he was at heart almost a melancholy man; that +makes us think that the real Wilson is the Wilson of the +‘Isle of Palms,’ ‘The City of the +Plague,’ of the ‘Trials of Margaret Lyndsay,’ +of the ‘Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life,’ Wilson, +the Wordsworthian, the lover of Nature, whom Jeffrey describes +when he says that ‘almost the only passions with which his +poetry is conversant are the gentler sympathies of our +nature—tender compassion—confiding affection, and +gentleness and sorrow.’</p> +<p>He wished to be thought a rollicking, devil-me-care +protagonist, a good-tempered giant ready to swallow with a guffaw +the whole cockney army if necessary. This kind of man he +may have been—Mr. Skelton inferentially says he was; all we +know is that his writings <a name="page201"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 201</span>lead us to think he was playing a +part. A temperamental humourist, we say decidedly, he was +not.</p> +<p>Is there, then, no humour to be found in this book? In a +certain sense no doubt humour may be found there. Just as +science tells us that all the stars in heaven are composed of +pretty much the same elements as the familiar earth on which we +live, or dream we live, so is every one among us composed of the +same elements as all the rest, and one of the most important +elements common to all human kind is humour. And, if a man +takes to expressing in literary forms the little humour within +him, it is but natural that the more vigorous, the more agile is +his intellect and the greater is his literary skill, the more +deceptive is his mere intellectual humour, the more telling his +wit. Now, Wilson’s intellect was exceedingly and +wonderfully fine. As strong as it was swift, it could fly +over many a wide track of knowledge and of speculation unkenned +by not a few of those who now-a-days would underrate him, +dropping a rain of diamonds from his wings like the fabulous bird +of North Cathay.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>No sooner had the article appeared than Appleton went to Danes +Inn and saw the author of it. Appleton was in a state of +great excitement, and indeed of great rage, for at that time +there was considerable rivalry between the +‘Athenæum’ and the ‘Academy.’</p> +<p>“You belong to us,” said Appleton. +“The ‘Academy’ is the proper place for +you. You and I have been friends for a long time, and so +have Rossetti and the rest of us, and yet you go into the +enemy’s camp.”</p> +<p>“And shall I tell you why I have joined the +‘Athenæum’ in place of the +‘Academy’?” said <a name="page202"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 202</span>Watts; “it is simply because +MacColl invited me, and you did not.”</p> +<p>“For months and months I have been urging you to write +in the ‘Academy,’” said Appleton.</p> +<p>“That is true, no doubt,” said Watts, “but +while MacColl offered me an important post on his paper, and in +the literary department, too, you invited me to do the drudgery +of melting down into two columns books upon metaphysics. It +is too late, my dear boy, it is too late. If to join the +‘Athenæum’ is to go into the camp of the +Philistines, why, then, a Philistine am I.”</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>I do not know whether at that time Shirley (as Sir John +Skelton was then called) and Mr. Watts-Dunton were friends, but I +know they were friends afterwards. Shirley, in his +‘Reminiscences’ of Rossetti, like most of his +friends, urged Mr. Watts-Dunton to write a memoir of the +poet-painter. I do know, however, that Mr. Watts-Dunton, +besides cherishing an affectionate memory of Sir John Skelton as +a man, is a genuine admirer of the Shirley Essays. I have +heard him say more than once that Skelton’s style had a +certain charm for him, and he could not understand why +Skelton’s position is not as great as it deserves to +be. ‘Scotsmen,’ he said, ‘often complain +that English critics are slow to do them justice. This idea +was the bane of my dear old friend John Nichol’s +life. He really seemed to think that he was languishing and +withering under the ban of a great anti-Scottish conspiracy known +as the Savile Club. As a matter of fact, however, there is +nothing whatever in the idea that a Scotsman does not fight on +equal terms with the Englishman in the great literary cockpit of +London. To say the truth, the Scottish cock <a +name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>is really +longer in spur and beak than the English cock, and can more than +take care of himself. For my part, with the exception of +Swinburne, I really think that my most intimate friends are +either Irish, Scottish, or Welsh. But I have sometimes +thought that if Skelton had been an Englishman and moved in +English sets, he would have taken an enormously higher position +than he has secured, for he would have been more known among +writers, and the more he was known the more he was +liked.’</p> +<p>As will be seen further on, before the review of the +‘Comedy of the Noctes Ambrosianæ’ appeared, Mr. +Watts-Dunton had contributed to the ‘Athenæum’ +an article on ‘The Art of Interviewing.’ From +this time forward he became the chief critic of the +‘Athenæum,’ and for nearly a quarter of a +century—that is to say, until he published ‘The +Coming of Love,’ when he practically, I think, ceased to +write reviews of any kind—he enriched its pages with +critical essays the peculiar features of which were their daring +formulation of first principles, their profound generalizations, +their application of modern scientific knowledge to the phenomena +of literature, and, above all, their richly idiosyncratic +style—a style so personal that, as Groome said in the +remarks quoted in an earlier chapter, it signs all his work.</p> +<p>As I have more than once said, it is necessary to dwell with +some fulness upon these criticisms, because the relation between +his critical and his creative work is of the closest kind. +Indeed, it has been said by Rossetti that ‘the subtle and +original generalizations upon the first principles of poetry +which illumine his writings could only have come to him by a +duplicate exercise of his brain when he was writing his own +poetry.’ The <a name="page204"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 204</span>great critics of poetry have nearly +all been great poets. Rossetti used humourously to call him +‘The Symposiarch,’ and no doubt the influence of his +long practice of oral criticism in Cheyne Walk, at Kelmscott +Manor, as well as in such opposite gatherings as those at Dr. +Marston’s, Madox Brown’s, and Mrs. Procter’s, +may be traced in his writings. For his most effective +criticism has always the personal magic of the living voice, +producing on the reader the winsome effect of spontaneous +conversation overheard. Its variety of manner, as well as +of subject, differentiates it from all other contemporary +criticism. In it are found racy erudition, powerful +thought, philosophical speculation, irony silkier than the silken +irony of M. Anatole France, airily mischievous humour, and a +perpetual coruscation of the comic spirit. To the +‘Athenæum’ he contributed essays upon all sorts +of themes such as ‘The Poetic Interpretation of +Nature,’ ‘The Troubadours and +Trouvères,’ ‘The Children of the Open +Air,’ ‘The Gypsies,’ ‘Cosmic +Humour,’ ‘The Effect of Evolution upon +Literature.’ And although the most complete and most +modern critical system in the English language lies buried in the +vast ocean of the ‘Examiner,’ the +‘Athenæum,’ and the ‘Encyclopædia +Britannica,’ there are still divers who are aware of its +existence, as is proved by the latest appreciation of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s work, that contributed by Madame Galimberti, +the accomplished wife of the Italian minister, to the +‘Rivista d’ Italia.’ In this article she +makes frequent allusions to the ‘Athenæum’ +articles, and quotes freely from them. Rossetti once said +that ‘the reason why Theodore Watts was so little known +outside the inner circle of letters was that he sought obscurity +as eagerly as other men sought fame’; but although his +indifference to literary reputation is so <a +name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>invincible +that it has baffled all the efforts of all his friends to +persuade him to collect his critical essays, his influence over +contemporary criticism has been and is and will be profound.</p> +<p>There is no province of pure literature which his criticism +leaves untouched; but it is in poetry that it culminates. +His treatise in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ +on ‘Poetry’ is alone sufficient to show how deep has +been his study of poetic principles. The essay on the +‘Sonnet,’ too, which appeared in +‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia,’ is admitted by +critics of the sonnet to be the one indispensable treatise on the +subject. It has been much discussed by foreign critics, +especially by Dr. Karl Leutzner in his treatise, ‘Uber das +Sonett in der Englischen Dichtung.’</p> +<p>The principles upon which he carried on criticism in the +‘Athenæum’ are admirably expressed in the +following dialogue between him and Mr. G. B. Burgin, who +approached him as the representative of the +‘Idler.’ The allusion to the ‘smart +slaters’ will be sufficient to indicate the approximate +date of the interview.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Having read your treatise on poetry in the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ which, it is said, +has been an influence in every European literature, I want to ask +whether a critic so deeply learned in all the secrets of poetic +art, and who has had the advantages of comparing his own opinions +with those of all the great poets of his time, takes a hopeful or +despondent view of the condition of English poetry at the present +moment. There are those who run down the present generation +of poets, but on this subject the men who are really entitled to +speak can be counted on the fingers of one hand. <a +name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>It would be +valuable to know whether our leading critic is in sympathy with +the poetry of the present hour.”</p> +<p>“I do not for a moment admit that I am the leading +critic. To say the truth, I am often amused, and often +vexed, at the grotesque misconception that seems to be afloat as +to my relation to criticism. Years ago, Russell Lowell told +me that all over the United States I was identified with every +paragraph of a certain critical journal in which I sometimes +write; and, judging from the droll attacks that are so often made +upon me by outside paragraph writers, the same misconception +seems to be spreading in England—attacks which the smiling +and knowing public well understands to spring from writing men +who have not been happy in their relations with the +reviewers.”</p> +<p>“It has been remarked that you never answer any attack +in the newspapers, howsoever unjust or absurd.”</p> +<p>“I do not believe in answering attacks. The +public, as I say, knows that there is a mysterious and +inscrutable yearning in the slow-worm to bite with the fangs of +the adder, and every attack upon a writer does him more good than +praise would do. But, as a matter of fact, I have no +connexion whatever with any journal save that of a student of +letters who finds it convenient on occasion to throw his +meditations upon literary art and the laws that govern it in the +form of a review. It is a bad method, no doubt, of giving +expression to one’s excogitations, and although I do +certainly contrive to put careful criticisms into my articles, I +cannot imagine more unbusinesslike reviewing than mine. Yet +it has one good quality, I think—it is never +unkindly. I never will take a book for review unless I can +say something in its favour, and a good deal in its +favour.”</p> +<p><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>“Then you never practise the smart +‘slating’ which certain would-be critics indulge +in?”</p> +<p>“Never! In the first place, it would afford me no +pleasure to give pain to a young writer. In the next place, +this ‘smart slating,’ as you call it, is the very +easiest thing of achievement in the world. Give me the aid +of a good amanuensis, and I will engage to dictate as many miles +of such smart ‘slating’ as could be achieved by any +six of the smart slaters. A charming phrase of yours, +‘smart slaters’! But I leave such work to them, +as do all the really true critics of my time—men to whom +the insolence which the smart slaters seem to mistake for wit +would be as easy as to me, only that, like me, they hold such +work in contempt. Take a critic like Mr. Traill, for +instance. Unfortunately, Fate has decreed that many hours +every day of his valuable life are wasted on ‘leader’ +writing, but there is in any one of his literary essays more wit +and humour than could be achieved by all the smart writers +combined; and yet how kind is he! going out of his way to see +merit in a rising poet, and to foster it. Or take Grant +Allen, whose good things flow so naturally from him. While +the typical smart writer is illustrating the primal curse by +making his poor little spiteful jokes in the sweat of his poor +little spiteful brow, Grant Allen’s good-natured sayings +have the very wit that the unlucky sweater and +‘slater’ is trying for. Read what he said about +William Watson, and see how kind he is. Compare his +geniality with the scurrility of the smart writers. Again, +take Andrew Lang, perhaps the most variously accomplished man of +letters in England or in Europe, and compare his geniality with +the scurrility of the smart writers. But it was not, I +suppose, of such as they that you came to talk about. You +are asking me whether I am in sympathy with the <a +name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>younger +writers of my time. My answer is that I cannot imagine any +one to be more in sympathy with them than I am. In spite of +the disparity of years between me and the youngest of them, I +believe I number many of them among my warmest and most loyal +friends, and that is because I am in true sympathy with their +work and their aims. No doubt there are some points in +which they and I agree to differ.”</p> +<p>“And what about our contemporary novelists? +Perhaps you do not give attention to fiction?”</p> +<p>“Give attention to novels! Why, if I did not, I +should not give attention to literature at all. In a true +and deep sense all pure literature is fiction—to use an +extremely inadequate and misleading word as a substitute for the +right phrase, ‘imaginative representation.’ +‘The Iliad,’ ‘The Odyssey,’ ‘The +Æneid,’ ‘The Divina Commedia,’ are +fundamentally novels, though in verse, as certainly novels as is +the latest story by the most popular of our writers. The +greatest of all writers of the novelette is the old Burmese +parable writer, who gave us the story of the girl-mother and the +mustard-seed. A time which has given birth to such +novelists as many of ours of the present day is a great, and a +very great, time for the English novel. Criticism will have +to recognize, and at once, that the novel, now-a-days, stands +plump in the front rank of the ‘literature of power,’ +and if criticism does not so recognize it, so much the worse for +criticism, I think. That the novel will grow in importance +is, I say, quite certain. In such a time as ours (as I have +said in print), poetry is like the knickerbockers of a growing +boy—it has become too small somehow; it is not quite large +enough for the growing limbs of life. The novel is more +flexible; it can be stretched to fit the muscles as they +swell.”</p> +<p><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +209</span>“I will conclude by asking you what I have asked +another eminent critic: What is your opinion of anonymity in +criticism?”</p> +<p>“Well, there I am a ‘galled jade’ that must +needs ‘wince’ a little. No doubt I write +anonymously myself, but that is because I have not yet mastered +that dislike of publicity which has kept me back, and my writing +seems to lose its elasticity with its anonymity. The chief +argument against anonymous criticism I take to be this: That any +scribbler who can get upon an important journal is at once +clothed with the journal’s own authority—and the same +applies, of course, to the dishonest critic; and this is surely +very serious. With regard to dishonest criticism it is +impossible for the most wary editor to be always on his guard +against it. An editor cannot read all the books, nor can he +know the innumerable ramifications of the literary world. +When Jones asks him for Brown’s book for review, the editor +cannot know that Jones has determined to praise it or to cut it +up irrespective of its merits; and then, when the puff or attack +comes in, it is at once clothed with the authority, not of +Jones’s name, but that of the journal.</p> +<p>In the literary arena itself the truth of the case may be +known, but not in the world outside, and it must not be supposed +but that great injustice may flow from this. I myself have +more than once heard a good book spoken of with contempt in +London Society, and heard quoted the very words of some hostile +review which I have known to be the work of a spiteful foe of the +writer of the book, or of some paltry fellow who was quite +incompetent to review anything.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now that the day of the ‘smart slaters’ is over, +it is interesting to read in connection with these obiter dicta +<a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>the +following passage from the article in which Mr. Watts-Dunton, on +the seventieth birthday of the ‘Athenæum,’ +spoke of its record and its triumphs:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The enormous responsibility of anonymous +criticism is seen in every line contributed by the Maurice and +Sterling group who spoke through its columns. Even for +those who are behind the scenes and know that the critique +expresses the opinion of only one writer, it is difficult not to +be impressed by the accent of authority in the editorial +‘we.’ But with regard to the general public, +the reader of a review article finds it impossible to escape from +the authority of the ‘we,’ and the power of a single +writer to benefit or to injure an author is so great that none +but the most deeply conscientious men ought to enter the ranks of +the anonymous reviewers. These were the views of Maurice +and Sterling; and that they are shared by all the best writers of +our time there can be no doubt. Some very illustrious men +have given very emphatic expression to them. On a certain +memorable occasion, at a little dinner-party at 16 Cheyne Walk, +one of the guests related an anecdote of his having accidentally +met an old acquaintance who had deeply disgraced himself, and +told how he had stood ‘dividing the swift mind’ as to +whether he could or could not offer the man his hand. +‘I think I should have offered him mine,’ said +Rossetti, ‘although no one detests his offence more than I +do.’ And then the conversation ran upon the question +as to the various kinds of offenders with whom old friends could +not shake hands. ‘There is one kind of +miscreant,’ said Rossetti, ‘whom you have forgotten +to name—a miscreant who in kind of meanness and infamy +cannot well be beaten, the man who in an anonymous <a +name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>journal +tells the world that a poem or picture is bad when he knows it to +be good. That is the man who should never defile my hand by +his touch. By God, if I met such a man at a dinner-table I +must not kick him, I suppose; but I could not, and would not, +taste bread and salt with him. I would quietly get up and +go.’ Tennyson, on afterwards being told this story, +said, ‘And who would not do the same? Such a man has +been guilty of sacrilege—sacrilege against +art.’ Maurice, Sterling, and the other writers in the +first volume of the ‘Athenæum’ worked on the +great principle that the critic’s primary duty is to seek +and to bring to light those treasures of art and literature that +the busy world is only too apt to pass by. Their pet +abhorrence was the cheap smartness of Jeffrey and certain of his +coadjutors; and from its commencement the +‘Athenæum’ has striven to avoid slashing and +smart writing. A difficult thing to avoid, no doubt, for +nothing is so easy to achieve as that insolent and vulgar +slashing which the half-educated amateur thinks so clever. +Of all forms of writing, the founders of the +‘Athenæum’ held the shallow, smart style to be +the cheapest and also the most despicable. And here again +the views of the ‘Athenæum’ have remained +unchanged. The critic who works ‘without a conscience +or an aim’ knows only too well that it pays to pander to +the most lamentable of all the weaknesses of human +nature—the love that people have of seeing each other +attacked and vilified; it pays for a time, until it defeats +itself. For although man has a strong instinct for +admiration—else had he never reached his present position +in the conscious world—he has, running side by side with +this instinct, another strong instinct—the instinct for +contempt. A reviewer’s ridicule poured upon a writer +<a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>titillates the reader with a sense of his own +superiority. It is by pandering to this lower instinct that +the unprincipled journalist hopes to kill two birds with one +stone—to gratify his own malignity and low-bred love of +insolence, and to make profit while doing so. Although +cynicism may certainly exist alongside great talent, it is far +more likely to be found where there is no talent at all. +Many brilliant writers have written in this journal, but rarely, +if ever, have truth and honesty of criticism been sacrificed for +a smart saying. One of these writers—the greatest wit +of the nineteenth century—used to say, in honest +disparagement of what were considered his own prodigious powers +of wit, ‘I will engage in six lessons to teach any man to +do this kind of thing as well as I do, if he thinks it worth his +while to learn.’ And the +‘Athenæum,’ at the time when Hood was reviewing +Dickens in its columns, could have said the same thing. The +smart reviewer, however, mistakes insolence for wit, and among +the low-minded insolence needs no teaching.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Of course, in the office of an important literary organ there +is always a kind of terror lest, in the necessary hurry of the +work, a contributor should ‘come down a cropper’ over +some matter of fact, and open the door to troublesome +correspondence. As Mr. Watts-Dunton has said, the +mysterious ‘we’ must claim to be Absolute Wisdom, or +where is the authority of the oracle? When a contributor +‘comes down a cropper,’ although the matter may be of +infinitesimal importance, the editor cannot, it seems, and never +could (except during the imperial regime of the ‘Saturday +Review’ under Cook) refuse to insert a correction. +Now, as Mr. Watts-Dunton has said, ‘the smaller the +intelligence, the greater joy does it feel in <a +name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>setting +other intelligences right.’ I have been told that it +was a tradition in the office of the ‘Examiner,’ and +also in the office of the ‘Athenæum,’ that +Theodore Watts had not only never been known to ‘come down +a cropper,’ but had never given the ‘critical +gnats’ a chance of pretending that he had to. One +day, however, in an article on Frederick Tennyson’s poems, +speaking of the position that the poet Alexander Smith occupied +in the early fifties, and contrasting it with the position that +he held at the time the article was written, Mr. Watts-Dunton +affirmed that once on a time Smith—the same Smith whom +‘Z’ (the late William Allingham) had annihilated in +the ‘Athenæum’—had been admired by Alfred +Tennyson, and also that once on a time Herbert Spencer had +compared a metaphor of Alexander Smith’s with the metaphors +of Shakespeare. The touchiness of Spencer was proverbial, +and on the next Monday morning the editor got the following curt +note from the great man:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Will the writer of the review of Mr. +Frederick Tennyson’s poems, which was published in your +last number, please say where I have compared the metaphors of +Shakspeare and Alexander Smith?</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Herbert +Spencer</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The editor, taking for granted that the heretofore impeccable +contributor had at last ‘come down a cropper,’ sent a +proof of Spencer’s note to Mr. Watts-Dunton, and intimated +that it had better be printed without any editorial comment at +all. Of course, if Mr. Watts-Dunton had at last ‘come +down a cropper,’ this would have been the wisest +plan. But he returned <a name="page214"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 214</span>the proof of the letter to the +editor, with the following footnote added to it:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It is many years since Mr. Herbert Spencer +printed in one of the magazines an essay dealing with the laws of +cause and effect in literary art—an essay so searching in +its analyses, and so original in its method and conclusions, that +the workers in pure literature may well be envious of science for +enticing such a leader away from their ranks—and it is many +years since we had the pleasure of reading it. Our memory +is, therefore, somewhat hazy as to the way in which he introduced +such metaphors by Alexander Smith as ‘I speared him with a +jest,’ etc. Our only object, however, in alluding to +the subject was to show that a poet now ignored by the criticism +of the hour, a poet who could throw off such Shakspearean +sentences as this—</p> + +<p> —My +drooping sails<br /> +Flap idly ’gainst the mast of my intent;<br /> +I rot upon the waters when my prow<br /> +Should grate the golden isles—</p> +<p>had once the honour of being admired by Alfred Tennyson and +favourably mentioned by Mr. Herbert Spencer.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Spencer told this to a friend, and with much laughter said, +‘Of course the article was Theodore Watts’s. I +had forgotten entirely what I had said about Shakspeare and +Alexander Smith.’</p> +<p>If I were asked to furnish a typical example of that +combination of critical insight, faultless memory, and genial +courtesy, which distinguishes Mr. Watts-Dunton’s writings, +I think I should select this bland postscript to Spencer’s +letter.</p> +<p><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>Another instance of the care and insight with which Mr. +Watts-Dunton always wrote his essays is connected with Robert +Louis Stevenson. It occurred in connection with +‘Kidnapped.’ I will quote here Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s own version of the anecdote, which will be +found in the ‘Athenæum’ review of the Edinburgh +edition of Stevenson’s works. The playful allusion to +the ‘Athenæum’s’ kindness is very +characteristic:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Of Stevenson’s sweetness of +disposition and his good sense we could quote many instances; but +let one suffice. When ‘Kidnapped’ appeared, +although in reviewing it we enjoyed the great pleasure of giving +high praise to certain parts of that delightful narrative, we +refused to be scared from making certain strictures. It +occurred to us that while some portions of the story were full of +that organic detail of which Scott was such a master, and without +which no really vital story can be told, it was not so with +certain other parts. From this we drew the conclusion that +the book really consisted of two distinct parts, two stories +which Stevenson had tried in vain to weld into one. We +surmised that the purely Jacobite adventures of Balfour and Alan +Breck were written first, and that then the writer, anxious to +win the suffrages of the general novel-reader (whose power is so +great with Byles the Butcher), looked about him for some story on +the old lines; that he experienced great difficulty in finding +one; and that he was at last driven upon the old situation of the +villain uncle plotting to make away with the nephew by kidnapping +him and sending him off to the plantations. The +‘Athenæum,’ whose kindness towards all writers, +poets and prosemen, great and small, has won for it such an +infinity of gratitude, said this, but in its usual kind and +gentle way. This aroused the wrath of the +Stevensonians. <a name="page216"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 216</span>Yet we were not at all surprised to +get from the author of ‘Kidnapped’ himself a charming +letter.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This letter appears in Stevenson’s +‘Letters,’ and by the courtesy of Mr. Sidney Colvin +and Mr. A. M. S. Methuen I am permitted to reprint it +here:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Skerryvore</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bournemouth</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Watts</span>,—The sight of +the last ‘Athenæum’ reminds me of you, and of +my debt now too long due. I wish to thank you for your +notice of ‘Kidnapped’; and that not because it was +kind, though for that also I valued it; but in the same sense as +I have thanked you before now for a hundred articles on a hundred +different writers. A critic like you is one who fights the +good fight, contending with stupidity, and I would fain hope not +all in vain; in my own case, for instance, surely not in +vain.</p> +<p>What you say of the two parts in ‘Kidnapped’ was +felt by no one more painfully than by myself. I began it, +partly as a lark, partly as a pot-boiler; and suddenly it moved, +David and Alan stepped out from the canvas, and I found I was in +another world. But there was the cursed beginning, and a +cursed end must be appended; and our old friend Byles the Butcher +was plainly audible tapping at the back door. So it had to +go into the world, one part (as it does seem to me) alive, one +part merely galvanised: no work, only an essay. For a man +of tentative method, and weak health, and a scarcity of private +means, and not too much of that frugality which is the +artist’s proper virtue, the days of sinecures and patrons +look very golden: the days of professional literature very +hard. Yet I do not so far deceive myself as to think I +should change my character by changing my epoch; the sum of +virtue in our books is in a relation of equality to the sum of <a +name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>virtues in +ourselves; and my ‘Kidnapped’ was doomed, while still +in the womb and while I was yet in the cradle, to be the thing it +is.</p> +<p>And now to the more genial business of defence. You +attack my fight on board the ‘Covenant,’ I think it +literal. David and Alan had every advantage on their side, +position, arms, training, a good conscience; a handful of +merchant sailors, not well led in the first attack, not led at +all in the second, could only by an accident have taken the +roundhouse by attack; and since the defenders had firearms and +food, it is even doubtful if they could have been starved +out. The only doubtful point with me is whether the seamen +would have ever ventured on the second onslaught; I half believe +they would not; still the illusion of numbers and the authority +of Hoseason would perhaps stretch far enough to justify the +extremity.—I am, dear Mr. Watts, your very sincere +admirer,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Robert Louis +Stevenson</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton has always been a warm admirer of Stevenson, +of his personal character no less than his undoubted genius, and +Stevenson, on his part, in conversation never failed to speak of +himself, as in this letter he subscribes himself, as Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s sincere admirer. But Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s admiration of Stevenson’s work was +more tempered with judgment than was the admiration of some +critics, who afterwards, when he became too successful, +disparaged him. Greatly as he admired +‘Kidnapped’ and ‘Catriona,’ there were +certain of Stevenson’s works for which his admiration was +qualified, and certain others for which he had no admiration at +all. His strictures upon the story which seems to have been +at first the main source of Stevenson’s popularity, +‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,’ were much resented <a +name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>at the time +by those insincere and fickle worshippers to whom I have already +alluded. Yet these strictures are surely full of wisdom, +and they specially show that wide sweep over the entire field of +literature which is characteristic of all his criticism. As +they contain, besides, one of his many tributes to Scott, I will +quote them here:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Take the little story ‘Dr. Jekyll and +Mr. Hyde,’ the laudatory criticism upon which is in bulk, +as regards the story itself, like the comet’s tail in +relation to the comet. On its appearance as a story, a +‘shilling shocker’ for the railway bookstalls, the +critic’s attention was directed to its vividness of +narrative and kindred qualities, and though perfectly conscious +of its worthlessness in the world of literary art, he might well +be justified in comparing it to its advantage with other stories +of its class and literary standing. But when it is offered +as a classic—and this is really how it is offered—it +has to be judged by critical canons of a very different +kind. It has then to be compared and contrasted with +stories having a like motive—stories that deal with an idea +as old as the oldest literature—as old, no doubt, as those +primeval days when man awoke to the consciousness that he is a +moral and a responsible being—stories whose temper has +always been up to now of the loftiest kind.</p> +<p>It is many years since, in writing of the ‘Parables of +Buddhaghosha,’ it was our business to treat at length of +the grand idea of man’s dual nature, and the many beautiful +forms in which it has been embodied. We said then that, +from the lovely modern story of Arsène Houssaye, where a +young man, starting along life’s road, sees on a lawn a +beautiful girl and loves her, and afterwards—when sin has +soiled him—finds that she was his own soul, stained <a +name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>now by his +own sin; and from the still more impressive, though less lovely +modern story of Edgar Poe, ‘William Wilson,’ up to +the earliest allegories upon the subject, no writer or +story-teller had dared to degrade by gross treatment a motive of +such universal appeal to the great heart of the ‘Great Man, +Mankind.’ We traced the idea, as far as our knowledge +went, through Calderon, back to Oriental sources, and found, as +we then could truly affirm, that this motive—from the +ethical point of view the most pathetic and solemn of all +motives—had been always treated with a nobility and a +greatness that did honour to literary art. Manu, after +telling us that ‘single is each man born into the +world—single dies,’ implores each one to +‘collect virtue,’ in order that after death he may be +met by the virtuous part of his dual self, a beautiful companion +and guide in traversing ‘that gloom which is so hard to be +traversed.’ Fine as this is, it is surpassed by an +Arabian story we then quoted (since versified by Sir Edwin +Arnold)—the story of the wicked king who met after death a +frightful hag for an eternal companion, and found her to be only +a part of his own dual nature, the embodiment of his own evil +deeds. And even this is surpassed by that lovely allegory +in Arda Viraf, in which a virtuous soul in Paradise, walking amid +pleasant trees whose fragrance was wafted from God, meets a part +of his own dual nature, a beautiful maiden, who says to him, +‘O youth, I am thine own actions.’</p> +<p>And we instanced other stories and allegories equally +beautiful, in which this supreme thought has been treated as +poetically as it deserves. It was left for Stevenson to +degrade it into a hideous tale of murder and Whitechapel +mystery—a story of astonishing brutality, in which the +separation of the two natures of the man’s soul is effected +not by psychological development, and not by the ‘awful <a +name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +220</span>alchemy’ of the spirit-world beyond the grave, as +in all the previous versions, but by the operation of a dose of +some supposed new drug.</p> +<p>If the whole thing is meant as a horrible joke, in imitation +of De Quincey’s ‘Murder considered as One of the Fine +Arts,’ it tells poorly for Stevenson’s sense of +humour. If it is meant as a serious allegory, it is an +outrage upon the grand allegories of the same motive with which +most literatures have been enriched. That a story so coarse +should have met with the plaudits that ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. +Hyde’ met with at the time of its publication—that it +should now be quoted in leading articles of important papers +every few days, while all the various and beautiful renderings of +the motive are ignored—what does it mean? Is it a +sign that the ‘shrinkage of the world,’ the +‘solidarity of civilisation,’ making the record of +each day’s doings too big for the day, has worked a great +change in our public writers? Is it that they not only have +no time to think, but no time to read anything beyond the +publications of the hour? Is it that good work is unknown +to them, and that bad work is forced upon them, and that in their +busy ignorance they must needs accept it and turn to it for +convenient illustration? That Stevenson should have been +impelled to write the story shows what the ‘Suicide +Club’ had already shown, that underneath the apparent +health which gives such a charm to ‘Treasure Island’ +and ‘Kidnapped,’ there was that morbid strain which +is so often associated with physical disease.</p> +<p>Had it not been for the influence upon him of the healthiest +of all writers since Chaucer—Walter Scott—Stevenson +might have been in the ranks of those pompous problem-mongers of +fiction and the stage who do their best to make life +hideous. It must be remembered that <a +name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>he was a +critic first and a creator afterwards. He himself tells us +how critically he studied the methods of other writers before he +took to writing himself. No one really understood better +than he Hesiod’s fine saying that the muses were born in +order that they might be a forgetfulness of evils and a truce +from cares. No one understood better than he +Joubert’s saying, ‘Fiction has no business to exist +unless it is more beautiful than reality; in literature the one +aim is the beautiful; once lose sight of that, and you have the +mere frightful reality.’ And for the most part he +succeeded in keeping down the morbid impulses of a spirit +imprisoned and fretted in a crazy body.</p> +<p>Save in such great mistakes as ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. +Hyde,’ and a few other stories, Stevenson acted upon +Joubert’s excellent maxim. But Scott, and Scott +alone, is always right in this matter—right by +instinct. He alone is always a delight. If all art is +dedicated to joy, as Schiller declares, and if there is no higher +and more serious problem than how to make men happy, then the +‘Waverley Novels’ are among the most precious things +in the literature of the world.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Another writer of whose good-nature Mr. Watts-Dunton always +speaks warmly is Browning. Among the many good anecdotes I +have heard him relate in this connection, I will give one. +I do not think that he would object to my doing so.</p> +<blockquote><p>“It is one of my misfortunes,” said +he, “to be not fully worthy (to use the word of a very dear +friend of mine), of Browning’s poetry. Where I am +delighted, stimulated, and exhilarated by the imaginative and +intellectual substance of his work, I find his metrical movements +in a general way not pleasing to my ear. When a <a +name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>certain +book of his came out—I forget which—it devolved upon +me to review it. Certain eccentricities in it, for some +reason or another, irritated me, and I expressed my irritation in +something very like chaff. A close friend of mine, a +greater admirer of Browning than I am myself—in fact, Mr. +Swinburne—chided me for it, and I feel that he was +right. On the afternoon following the appearance of the +article I was at the Royal Academy private view, when Lowell came +up to me and at once began talking about the review. +Lowell, I found, was delighted with it—said it was the most +original and brilliant thing that had appeared for many +years. ‘But,’ said he, ‘You’re a +brave man to be here where Browning always comes.’ +Then, looking round the room, he said: ‘Why there he is, +and his sister immediately on the side opposite to us. +Surely you will slip away and avoid a meeting!’</p> +<p>‘Slip away!’ I said, ‘to avoid +Browning! You don’t know him as well as I do, after +all! Now, let me tell you exactly what will occur if we +stand here for a minute or two. Miss Browning, whose eyes +are looking busily over the room for people that Browning ought +to speak to, in a moment will see you, and in another moment she +will see me. And then you will see her turn her head to +Browning’s ear and tell him something. And then +Browning will come straight across to me and be more charming and +cordial than he is in a general way, supposing that be +possible.’</p> +<p>‘No, I don’t believe it.’</p> +<p>‘If you were not such a Boston Puritan,’ I said, +‘I would ask you what will you bet that I am +wrong.’</p> +<p>No sooner had I uttered these words than, as I had prophesied, +Miss Browning did spot, first Lowell and then me, and did turn +and whisper in Browning’s ear, <a name="page223"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 223</span>and Browning did come straight +across the room to us; and this is what he said, speaking to me +before he spoke to the illustrious American—a thing which +on any other occasion he would scarcely have done:</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said he, ‘you’re not going to +put me off with generalities any longer. You promised to +write and tell me when you could come to luncheon. You have +never done so—you will never do so, unless I fix you with a +distinct day. Will you come to-morrow?’</p> +<p>‘I shall be delighted,’ I said. And he +turned to Lowell and exchanged a few friendly words with him.</p> +<p>After these two adorable people left us, Lowell said: +‘Well, this is wonderful. You would have won the +bet. How do you explain it?’</p> +<p>‘I explain it by Browning’s greatness of soul and +heart. His position is so great, and mine is so small, that +an unappreciative review of a poem of his cannot in the least +degree affect him. But he knows that I am an honest man, as +he has frequently told Tennyson, Jowett, and others. He +wishes to make it quite apparent that he feels no anger towards a +man who says what he thinks about a poem.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>After hearing this interesting anecdote I had the curiosity to +turn to the bound volume of my ‘Athenæum’ and +read the article on ‘Ferishtah’s Fancies,’ +which I imagine must have been the review in question. This +is what I read:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The poems in this volume can only be +described as parable-poems—parable-poems, not in the sense +that they are capable of being read as parables (as is said to be +the case with the ‘Rubá’iyát’ of +Omar Khayyàm), but parable-poems in the sense that they +must be read <a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>as parables, or they show no artistic raison +d’être at all.</p> +<p>Now do our English poets know what it is to write a parable +poem? It is to set self-conscious philosophy singing and +dancing, like the young Gretry, to the tune of a waterfall. +Or rather, it is to imprison the soul of Dinah Morris in the +lissome body of Esmeralda, and set the preacher strumming a +gypsy’s tambourine. Though in the pure parable the +intellectual or ethical motive does not dominate so absolutely as +in the case of the pure fable, the form that expresses it, yet it +does, nevertheless, so far govern the form as to interfere with +that entire abandon—that emotional freedom—which +seems necessary to the very existence of song. Indeed, if +poetry must, like Wordsworth’s ideal John Bull, ‘be +free or die’; if she must know no law but that of her own +being (as the doctrine of ‘L’art pour +l’art’ declares); if she must not even seem to know +<i>that</i> (as the doctrine of bardic inspiration implies), but +must bend to it apparently in tricksy sport alone—how can +she—‘the singing maid with pictures in her +eyes’—mount the pulpit, read the text, and deliver +the sermon?</p> +<p>In European literature how many parable poems should we find +where the ethical motive and the poetic form are not at deadly +strife? But we discussed all this in speaking of prose +parables, comparing the stories of the Prodigal Son and +Kiságotamí with even such perfect parable poetry as +that of Jami. We said then what we reiterate now: that to +sing a real parable and make it a real song requires a genius of +a very special and peculiar, if somewhat narrow order—a +genius rare, delicate, ethereal, such as can, according to a +certain Oriental fancy, compete with the Angels of the Water Pot +in floriculture. Mr. Browning, being so fond of Oriental +fancies, and being, moreover, on terms of the closest intimacy <a +name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span>with a +certain fancy-weaving dervish, Ferishtah, must be quite familiar +with the Persian story we allude to, the famous story of +‘Poetry and Cabbages.’ Still, we will record it +here for a certain learned society.</p> +<p>The earth, says the wise dervish Feridun, was once without +flowers, and men dreamed of nothing more beautiful then than +cabbages. So the Angels of the Water Pot, watering the +Tûba Tree (whose fruit becomes flavoured according to the +wishes of the feeder), said one to another, ‘The eyes of +those poor cabbage growers down there may well be horny and dim, +having none of our beautiful things to gaze upon; for as to the +earthly cabbage, though useful in earthly pot, it is in colour +unlovely as ungrateful in perfume; and as to the stars, they are +too far off to be very clearly mirrored in the eyes of folk so +very intent upon cabbages.’ So the Angels of the +Water Pot, who sit on the rainbow and brew the ambrosial rains, +began fashioning flowers out of the paradisal gems, while Israfel +sang to them; and the words of his song were the mottoes that +adorn the bowers of heaven. So bewitching, however, were +the strains of the singer—for not only has Israfel a lute +for viscera, but doth he not also, according to the +poet—</p> +<p>Breathe a stream of otto and balm,<br /> +Which through a woof of living music blown<br /> +Floats, fused, a warbling rose that makes all senses one?</p> +<p>—so astonishing were the notes of a singer so furnished, +that the angels at their jewel work could not help tracing his +coloured and perfumed words upon the petals. And this was +how the Angels of the Water Pot made flowers, and this is the +story of ‘Poetry and Cabbages.’</p> +<p>But the alphabet of the angels, Feridun goes on to declare, is +nothing less than the celestial charactery of <a +name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>heaven, and +is consequently unreadable to all human eyes save a very +few—that is to say, the eyes of those mortals who are +‘of the race of Israfel.’ To common +eyes—the eyes of the ordinary human +cabbage-grower—what, indeed, is that angelic caligraphy +with which the petals of the flowers are ornamented? +Nothing but a meaningless maze of beautiful veins and scents and +colours.</p> +<p>But who are ‘of the race of Israfel’? Not +the prosemen, certainly, as any Western critic may see who will +refer to Kircher’s idle nonsense about the ‘Alphabet +of the Angels’ in his ‘Ædipus +Egyptiacus.’ Are they, then, the poets? This is +indeed a solemn query. ‘If,’ says Feridun, +‘the mottoes that adorn the bowers of Heaven have been +correctly read by certain Persian poets, who shall be nameless, +what are those other mottoes glowing above the caves of hell in +that fiery alphabet used by the fiends?’</p> +<p>One kind of poet only is, it seems, of the race of +Israfel—the parable-poet—the poet to whom truth +comes, not in any way as reasoned conclusions, not even as golden +gnomes, but comes symbolized in concrete shapes of vital beauty; +the poet in whose work the poetic form is so part and parcel of +the ethical lesson which vitalizes it that this ethical lesson +seems not to give birth to the music and the colour of the poem, +but to be itself born of the sweet marriage of these, and to be +as inseparable from them as the ‘morning breath’ of +the Sabæan rose is inalienable from the innermost +petals—‘the subtle odour of the rose’s +heart,’ which no mere chemistry of man, but only the +morning breeze, can steal.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was such writing as this which made it quite superfluous +for Mr. Watts-Dunton to sign his articles, and <a +name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>we have +only to contrast it—or its richness and its +rareness—with the naïve, simple, unadorned style of +‘Aylwin’ to realize how wide is the range of Mr. +Watts-Dunton as a master of the fine shades of literary +expression.</p> +<h2><a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +228</span>Chapter XV<br /> +THE GREAT BOOK OF WONDER</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">And</span> now begins the most difficult +and the most responsible part of my task—the selection of +one typical essay from the vast number of essays expressing more +or less fully the great heart-thought which gives life to all Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s work. I can, of course, give only one, +for already I see signs that this book will swell to proportions +far beyond those originally intended for it. Naturally, I +thought at first that I would select one of the superb articles +on Victor Hugo’s works, such for instance as ‘La +Legénde des Siècles,’ or that profound one on +‘La Religion des Religion.’ But, after a while, +when I had got the essay typed and ready for inclusion, I changed +my mind. I thought that one of those wonderful essays upon +Oriental subjects which had called forth writings like those of +Sir Edwin Arnold, would serve my purpose better. Finally, I +decided to choose an essay, which when it appeared was so full of +profound learning upon the great book of the world, the Bible, +that it was attributed to almost every great specialist upon the +Bible in Europe and in America. Mr. Watts-Dunton has often +been urged to reprint this essay as a brief text-book for +scholastic use, but he has never done so. It will be noted +by readers of ‘Aylwin’ that even so far back as the +publication of this article in the ‘Athenæum ‘, +in 1877, Mr. Watts-Dunton—to judge from the allusion in it +to ‘Nin-ki-gal, <a name="page229"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 229</span>the Queen of +Death’—seems to have begun to draw upon Philip +Aylwin’s ‘Veiled Queen’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“There is not, in the whole of modern +history, a more suggestive subject than that of the persistent +attempts of every Western literature to versify the Psalms in its +own idiom, and the uniform failure of these attempts. At +the time that Sternhold was ‘bringing’ the Psalms +into ‘fine Englysh meter’ for Henry the Eighth and +Edward the Sixth, continental rhymers were busy at the same kind +of work for their own monarchs—notably Clement Marot for +Francis the First. And it has been going on ever since, +without a single protest of any importance having been entered +against it. This is astonishing, for the Bible, even from +the point of view of the literary critic, is a sacred book. +Perhaps the time for entering such a protest is come, and a +literary journal may be its proper medium.</p> +<p>A great living savant has characterized the Bible as ‘a +collection of the rude imaginings of Syria,’ ‘the +worn-out old bottle of Judaism into which the generous new wine +of science is being poured.’ The great savant was +angry when he said so. The ‘new wine’ of +science is a generous vintage, undoubtedly, and deserves all the +respect it gets from us; so do those who make it and serve it +out; they have so much intelligence; they are so honest and so +fearless. But whatever may become of their wine in a few +years, when the wine-dealers shall have passed away, when the +savant is forgotten as any star-gazer of Chaldæa,—the +‘old bottle’ is going to be older yet,—the +Bible is going to be eternal. For that which decides the +vitality of any book is precisely that which decides the value of +any human soul—not the knowledge it contains, but simply +the attitude it assumes <a name="page230"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 230</span>towards the universe, unseen as well +as seen. The attitude of the Bible is just that which every +soul must, in its highest and truest moods, always +assume—that of a wise wonder in front of such a universe as +this—that of a noble humility before a God such as He +‘in whose great Hand we stand.’ This is +why—like Alexander’s mirror—like that most +precious ‘Cup of Jemshîd,’ imagined by the +Persians—the Bible reflects to-day, and will reflect for +ever, every wave of human emotion, every passing event of human +life—reflect them as faithfully as it did to the great and +simple people in whose great and simple tongue it was +written. Coming from the Vernunft of Man, it goes straight +to the Vernunft. This is the kind of literature that never +does die: a fact which the world has discovered long ago. +For the Bible is Europe’s one book. And with regard +to Asia, as far back as the time of Chrysostom it could have been +read in languages Syrian, Indian, Persian, Armenian, Ethiopic, +Scythian, and Samaritan; now it can be read in every language, +and in almost every dialect, under the sun.</p> +<p>And the very quintessence of the Bible is the Book of the +Psalms. Therefore the Scottish passion for Psalm-singing is +not wonderful; the wonder is that, liking so much to sing, they +can find it possible to sing so badly. It is not wonderful +that the court of Francis I should yearn to sing Psalms; the +wonderful thing is that they should find it in their hearts to +sing Marot’s Psalms when they might have sung +David’s—that Her Majesty the Queen could sing to a +fashionable jig, ‘O Lord, rebuke me not in Thine +indignation’; and that Anthony, King of Navarre, could sing +to the air of a dance of Poitou, ‘Stand up, O Lord, to +revenge my quarrel.’ For, although it is given to the +very frogs, says Pascal, to <a name="page231"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 231</span>find music in their own croaking, +the ears that can find music in such frogs as these must be of a +peculiar convolution.</p> +<p>In Psalmody, then, Scottish taste and French are both bad, +from the English point of view; but then the English, having +Hopkins in various incarnations, are fastidious.</p> +<p>When Lord Macaulay’s tiresome New Zealander has done +contemplating the ruins of London Bridge, and turned in to the +deserted British Museum to study us through our books—what +volume can he take as the representative one—what book, +above all others, can the ghostly librarian select to give him +the truest, the profoundest insight into the character of the +strange people who had made such a great figure in the +earth? We, for our part, should not hesitate to give him +the English Book of Common Prayer, with the authorized version of +the Psalms at the end, as representing the British mind in its +most exalted and its most abject phases. That in the same +volume can be found side by side the beauty and pathos of the +English Litany, the grandeur of the English version of the Psalms +and the effusions of Brady and Tate—masters of the art of +sinking compared with whom Rous is an inspired bard—would +be adequate evidence that the Church using it must be a British +Church—that British, most British, must be the public +tolerating it.</p> +<p>‘By thine agony and bloody Sweat; by thy Cross and +Passion; by thy Precious Death and Burial; by thy glorious +Resurrection and Ascension; and by the coming of the Holy Ghost, +God Lord, deliver us.’</p> +<p>Among Western peoples there is but one that could have <a +name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>uttered in +such language this cry, where pathos and sublimity and subtlest +music are so mysteriously blended—blended so divinely that +the man who can utter it, familiar as it is, without an emotion +deep enough to touch close upon the fount of tears must be +differently constituted from some of us. Among Western +peoples there is, we say, but one that could have done this; for +as M. Taine has well said:—‘More than any race in +Europe they (the British) approach by the simplicity and energy +of their conceptions the old Hebraic spirit. Enthusiasm is +their natural condition, and their Deity fills them with +admiration as their ancient deities inspired them with +fury.’ And now listen to this:—</p> +<p>When we, our wearied limbs to rest,<br /> + Sat down by proud Euphrates’ stream,<br /> +We wept, with doleful thoughts opprest,<br /> + And Zion was our mournful theme.</p> +<p>Among all the peoples of the earth there is but one that could +have thus degraded the words: ‘By the rivers of Babylon, +there we sat down, yea, we wept when we remembered +Zion.’ For, to achieve such platitude there is +necessary an element which can only be called the ‘Hopkins +element,’ an element which is quite an insular birthright +of ours, a characteristic which came over with the ‘White +Horse,’—that ‘dull and greasy coarseness of +taste’ which distinguishes the British mind from all +others; that ‘ächtbrittische +Beschränktheit,’ which Heine speaks of in his tender +way. The Scottish version is rough, but Brady and +Tate’s inanities are worse than Rous’s roughness.</p> +<p>Such an anomaly as this in one and the same literature, in one +and the same little book, is unnatural; it is monstrous: whence +can it come? It is, indeed, <a name="page233"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 233</span>singular that no one has ever +dreamed of taking the story of the English Prayer-book, with +Brady and Tate at the end, and using it as a key to unlock that +puzzle of puzzles which has set the Continental critics writing +nonsense about us for generations:—‘What is it that +makes the enormous, the fundamental, difference between English +literature—and all other Western literatures—Teutonic +no less than Latin or Slavonic?’ The simple truth of +the matter is, that the British mind has always been bipartite as +now—has always been, as now, half sublime and half homely +to very coarseness; in other words, it has been half inspired by +David King of Israel, and half by John Hopkins, Suffolk +schoolmaster and archetype of prosaic bards, who, in 1562, took +such of the Psalms as Sternhold had left unsullied and +doggerellized them. For, as we have said, Hopkins, in many +and various incarnations, has been singing unctuously in these +islands ever since the introduction of Christianity, and before; +for he is Anglo-Saxon tastelessness, he is Anglo-Saxon deafness +to music and blindness to beauty. When St. Augustine landed +here with David he found not only Odin, but Hopkins, a heathen +then, in possession of the soil.</p> +<p>There is, therefore, half of a great truth in what M. Taine +says. The English have, besides the Hopkins element, which +is indigenous, much of the Hebraic temper, which is indigenous +too; but they have by nature none of the Hebraic style. +But, somehow, here is the difference between us and the +Continentals; that, though style is born of taste—though le +style c’est la race; and though the Anglo-Saxon started, as +we have seen, with Odin and Hopkins alone; yet, just as instinct +may be sown and grown by ancestral habit of many years—just +as the pointer puppy, for instance, points, he knows <a +name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span>not why, +because his ancestors were taught to point before him—so +may the Hebraic style be sown and grown in a foreign soil if the +soil be Anglo-Saxon, and if the seed-time last for a thousand +years. The result of all this is, that the English, +notwithstanding their deficiency of artistic instinct and +coarseness of taste, have the Great Style, not only in poetry, +sometimes, but in prose sometimes when they write emotively, as +we see in the English Prayer-book, in parts of Raleigh’s +‘History of the World,’ in Jeremy Taylor’s +sermons, in Hall’s ‘Contemplations,’ and other +such books of the seventeenth century.</p> +<p>The Great Style is far more easily recognized than +defined. To define any kind of style, indeed, we must turn +to real life. When we say of an individual in real life +that he or she has style, we mean that the individual gives us an +impression of unconscious power or unconscious grace, as +distinguished from that conscious power or conscious grace which +we call manner. The difference is fundamental. It is +the same in literature; style is unconscious power or +grace—manner is conscious power or grace. But the +Great Style, both in literature and in life, is unconscious power +and unconscious grace in one.</p> +<p>And, whither must we turn in quest of this, as the natural +expression of a national temper? Not to the Celt, we think, +as Mr. Arnold does. Not, indeed, to those whose languages, +complex of syntax and alive with self-conscious inflections, +bespeak the scientific knowingness of the Aryan mind—not, +certainly, to those who, though producing Æschylus, turned +into Aphrodite the great Astarte of the Syrians, but to the +descendants of Shem,—the only gentleman among all the sons +of Noah; to those who, yearning always to look straight into the +face of God and live, can see not much else. The Great <a +name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>Style, in a +word, is Semitic. It would be a mistake to call it +Asiatic. For though two of its elements, unconsciousness +and power, are, no doubt, plentiful enough in India, the element +of grace is lacking, for the most part. The Vedic hymns are +both nebulous and unemotive as compared with Semitic hymns, and, +on the other hand, such a high reach of ethical writing as even +that noble and well-known passage from Manu, beginning, +‘Single is each man born into the world, single he +dies,’ etc., is quite logical and self-conscious when +compared with the ethical parts of Scripture. The Persians +have the grace always, the power often, but the unconsciousness +almost never. We might perhaps say that there were those in +Egypt once who came near to the great ideal. That +description of the abode of ‘Nin-ki-gal,’ the Queen +of Death, recently deciphered from a tablet in the British +Museum, is nearly in the Great Style, yet not quite. +Conscious power and conscious grace are Hellenic, of +course. That there is a deal of unconsciousness in Homer is +true; but, put his elaborate comparisons by the side of the fiery +metaphors of the sacred writers, and how artificial he +seems. And note that, afterwards, when he who approached +nearest to the Great Style wrote Prometheus and the Furies, +Orientalism was overflowing Greece, like the waters of the +Nile. It is to the Latin races—some of +them—that has filtered Hellenic manner; and whensoever, as +in Dante, the Great Style has been occasionally caught, it comes +not from the Hellenic fountain, but straight from the Hebrew.</p> +<p>What the Latin races lack, the Teutonic races +have—unconsciousness; often unconscious power; mostly, +however, unconscious brutalité. Sublime as is the +Northern mythology, it is vulgar too. The Hopkins +element,—the dull and stupid homeliness,—the coarse +<a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +236</span>grotesque, mingle with and mar its finest +effects. Over it all the atmosphere is that of +pantomime—singing dragons, one-eyed gods, and +Wagner’s libretti. Even that great final conflict +between gods and men and the swarming brood of evil on the plain +of Wigrid, foretold by the Völu-seeress, when from +Yötunland they come and storm the very gates of +Asgard;—even this fine combat ends in the grotesque and +vulgar picture of the Fenrir-wolf gulping Odin down like an +oyster, and digesting the universe to chaos. But, out of +the twenty-three thousand and more verses into which the Bible +has been divided, no one can find a vulgar verse; for the Great +Style allows the stylist to touch upon any subject with no risk +of defilement. This is why style in literature is +virtue. Like royalty, the Great Style ‘can do no +wrong.’</p> +<p>Of Teutonic graceless unconsciousness, the Anglo-Saxons have +by far the largest endowment. They wanted another element, +in short, not the Hellenic element; for there never was a greater +mistake than that of supposing that Hellenism can be engrafted on +Teutonism and live; as Landor and Mr. Matthew Arnold—two of +the finest and most delicate minds of modern times—can +testify.</p> +<p>But, long before the memorable Hampton Court Conference; long +before the Bishops’ Bible or Coverdale’s Bible; long +before even Aldhelm’s time—Hebraism had been flowing +over and enriching the Anglo-Saxon mind. From the time when +Cædmon, the forlorn cow-herd, fell asleep beneath the stars +by the stable-door, and was bidden to sing the Biblical story, +Anglo-Saxon literature grew more and more Hebraic. Yet, in +a certain sense, the Hebraism in which the English mind was +steeped had been Hebraism at second hand—that of <a +name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>the Vulgate +mainly—till Tyndale’s time, or rather till the +present Authorized Version of the Bible appeared in 1611. +‘There is no book,’ says Selden, ‘so translated +as the Bible for the purpose. If I translate a French book +into English, I turn it into English phrase, not into +French-English. “Il fait froid,” I say, +’tis cold, not it makes cold; but the Bible is rather +translated into English words than into English phrase, The +Hebraisms are kept, and the phrase of that language is +kept.’</p> +<p>And in great measure this is true, no doubt; yet literal +accuracy—importation of Hebraisms—was not of itself +enough to produce a translation in the Great Style—a +translation such as this, which, as Coleridge says, makes us +think that ‘the translators themselves were +inspired.’ To reproduce the Great Style of the +original in a Western idiom, the happiest combination of +circumstances was necessary. The temper of the people +receiving must, notwithstanding all differences of habitation and +civilization, be elementally in harmony with that of the people +giving; that is, it must be poetic rather than +ratiocinative. Society must not be too complex—its +tone must not be too knowing and self-glorifying. The +accepted psychology of the time must not be the psychology of the +scalpel—the metaphysics must not be the metaphysics of +newspaper cynicism; above all, enthusiasm and vulgarity must not +be considered synonymous terms. Briefly, the tone of the +time must be free of the faintest suspicion of nineteenth century +flavour. That this is the kind of national temper necessary +to such a work might have been demonstrated by an argument a +priori. It was the temper of the English nation when the +Bible was translated. That noble heroism—born of +faith in God and belief in the high duties of man—which we +have lost for the hour—<a name="page238"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 238</span>was in the very atmosphere that hung +over the island. And style in real life, which now, as a +consequence of our loss, does not exist at all among Englishmen, +and only among a very few Englishwomen—having given place +in all classes to manner—flourished then in all its +charm. And in literature it was the same: not even the +euphuism imported from Spain could really destroy or even +seriously damage the then national sense of style.</p> +<p>Then, as to the form of literature adopted in the translation, +what must that be? Evidently it must be some kind of form +which can do all the high work that is generally left to metrical +language, and yet must be free from any soupçon of that +‘artifice,’ in the ‘abandonment’ of +which, says an Arabian historian, ‘true art alone +lies.’ For, this is most noteworthy, that of +literature as an art, the Semites show but small conception, even +in Job. It was too sacred for that—drama and epic in +the Aryan sense were alike unknown.</p> +<p>But if the translation must not be metrical in the common +acceptation of that word, neither must it be prose; we will not +say logical prose; for all prose, however high may be its +flights, however poetic and emotive, must always be logical +underneath, must always be chained by a logical chain, and +earth-bound like a captive balloon; just as poetry, on the other +hand, however didactic and even ratiocinative it may become, must +always be steeped in emotion. It must be neither verse nor +prose, it seems. It must be a new movement +altogether. The musical movement of the English Bible is a +new movement; let us call it ‘Bible Rhythm.’ +And the movement was devised thus: Difficulty is the worker of +modern miracles. Thanks to Difficulty—thanks to the +conflict between what Selden calls ‘Hebrew phrase and +English phrase,’ the translators fashioned, or rather, <a +name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>Difficulty +fashioned for them, a movement which was neither one nor wholly +the other—a movement which, for music, for variety, +splendour, sublimity, and pathos, is above all the effects of +English poetic art, above all the rhythms and all the rhymes of +the modern world—a movement, indeed, which is a form of art +of itself—but a form in which ‘artifice’ is +really ‘abandoned’ at last. This rhythm it is +to which we referred as running through the English Prayer-book, +and which governs every verse of the Bible, its highest reaches +perhaps being in the Psalms—this rhythm it is which the +Hopkinses and Rouses have—improved! It would not be +well to be too technical here, yet the matter is of the greatest +literary importance just now, and it is necessary to explain +clearly what we mean.</p> +<p>Among the many delights which we get from the mere form of +what is technically called Poetry, the chief, perhaps, is +expectation and the fulfilment of expectation. In rhymed +verse this is obvious: having familiarized ourselves with the +arrangement of the poet’s rhymes, we take pleasure in +expecting a recurrence of these rhymes according to this +arrangement. In blank verse the law of expectation is less +apparent. Yet it is none the less operative. Having +familiarized ourselves with the poet’s rhythm, having found +that iambic foot succeeds iambic foot, and that whenever the +iambic waves have begun to grow monotonous, variations +occur—trochaic, anapæstic, dactylic—according +to the law which governs the ear of this individual +poet;—we, half consciously, expect at certain intervals +these variations, and are delighted when our expectations are +fulfilled. And our delight is augmented if also our +expectations with regard to cæsuric effects are realized in +the same proportions. Having, for instance, learned, half +unconsciously, that the poet has <a name="page240"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 240</span>an ear for a particular kind of +pause; that he delights, let us say, to throw his pause after the +third foot of the sequence,—we expect that, whatever may be +the arrangement of the early pauses with regard to the initial +foot of any sequence,—there must be, not far ahead, that +climacteric third-foot pause up to which all the other pauses +have been tending, and upon which the ear and the soul of the +reader shall be allowed to rest to take breath for future +flights. And when this expectation of cæsuric effects +is thus gratified, or gratified in a more subtle way, by an +arrangement of earlier semi-pauses, which obviates the necessity +of the too frequent recurrence of this final third-foot pause, +the full pleasure of poetic effects is the result. In other +words, a large proportion of the pleasure we derive from poetry +is in the recognition of law. The more obvious and +formulated is the law,—nay, the more arbitrary and +Draconian,—the more pleasure it gives to the uncultivated +ear. This is why uneducated people may delight in rhyme, +and yet have no ear at all for blank verse; this is why the +savage, who has not even an ear for rhyme, takes pleasure in such +unmistakable rhythm as that of his tom-tom. But, as the ear +becomes more cultivated, it demands that these indications of law +should be more and more subtle, till at last recognized law +itself may become a tyranny and a burden. He who will read +Shakespeare’s plays chronologically, as far as that is +practicable, from ‘Love’s Labour’s Lost’ +to the ‘Tempest,’ will have no difficulty in seeing +precisely what we mean. In literature, as in social life, +the progress is from lawless freedom, through tyranny, to freedom +that is lawful. Now the great features of Bible Rhythm are +a recognized music apart from a recognized +law—‘artifice’ so completely abandoned that we +forget we are in the realm of art—pauses so divinely set +that <a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +241</span>they seem to be ‘wood-notes wild,’ though +all the while they are, and must be, governed by a mysterious law +too subtly sweet to be formulated; and all kind of beauties +infinitely beyond the triumphs of the metricist, but beauties +that are unexpected. There is a metre, to be sure, but it +is that of the ‘moving music which is life’; it is +the living metre of the surging sea within the soul of him who +speaks; it is the free effluence of the emotions and the passions +which are passing into the words. And if this is so in +other parts of the Bible, what is it in the Psalms, where +‘the flaming steeds of song,’ though really kept +strongly in hand, seem to run reinless as ‘the wild horses +of the wind’?”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +242</span>Chapter XVI<br /> +A HUMOURIST UPON HUMOUR</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> reaching of a decision as to +what article to select as typical of what I may call ‘The +Renascence of Wonder’ essays gave me so much trouble that +when I came to the still more difficult task of selecting an +essay typical of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s criticism dealing with +what he calls ‘the laws of cause and effect in literary +art’ it naturally occurred to me to write to him asking for +a suggestive hint or two. In response to my letter I got a +thoroughly characteristic reply, in which his affection for a +friend took entire precedence of his own work:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mr. +Douglas</span>,—The selections from my critiques must +really be left entirely to yourself. They are to illustrate +your own critical judgment upon my work, and not mine. +Overwhelmed as I am with avocations which I daresay you little +dream of, for me to plunge into the countless columns of the +‘Athenæum,’ in quest of articles of mine which +I have quite forgotten, would be an intolerable burden at the +present moment. I can think of only one article which I +should specially like reproduced, either in its entirety or in +part—not on account of any merit in it which I can recall, +but because it was the means of bringing me into contact with one +of the most delightful men and one of the most splendidly <a +name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>equipped +writers of our time, whose sudden death shocked and grieved me +beyond measure. A few days after the article appeared, the +then editor of the ‘Athenæum,’ Mr. MacColl, the +dear friend with whom I was associated for more than twenty +years, showed me a letter that he had received from Traill. +It was an extremely kind letter. Among the many generous +things that Traill said was this—that it was just the kind +of review article which makes the author regret that he had not +seen it before his book appeared. I wrote to Traill in +acknowledgment of his kind words; but it was not until a good +while after this that we met at the Incorporated Authors’ +Society dinner. At the table where I was sitting, and +immediately opposite me, sat a gentleman whose countenance, +especially when it was illuminated by conversation with his +friends, perfectly charmed me. Although there was not the +smallest regularity in his features, the expression was so genial +and so winsome that I had some difficulty in persuading myself +that it was not a beautiful face after all, and his smile was +really quite irresistible. The contrast between his black +eyebrows and whiskers and the white hair upon his head gave him a +peculiarly picturesque appearance. Another thing I noticed +was a boyish kind of lisp, which somehow, I could not say why, +gave to the man an added charm. I did not know it was +Traill, but after the dinner was over, when I was saying to +myself, ‘That is a man I should like to know,’ a +friend who sat next him—I forget who it was—brought +him round to me and introduced him as ‘Mr. +Traill.’ ‘You and I ought to know each +other,’ he said, ‘for, besides having many tastes in +common, we live near each other.’ And then I found +that he lived near the ‘Northumberland Arms,’ between +<a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>Putney +and Barnes. I think that he must have seen how greatly I +was drawn to him, for he called at The Pines in a few +days—I think, indeed, it was the very next day—and +then began a friendship the memory of which gives me intense +pleasure, and yet pleasure not unmixed with pain, when I recall +his comparatively early and sudden death. I used to go to +his gatherings, and it was there that I first met several +interesting men that I had not known before. One of them, I +remember, was Mr. Sidney Low, then the editor of the ‘St. +James’s Gazette.’ And I also used to meet there +interesting men whom I had known before, such as the late Sir +Edwin Arnold, whose ‘Light of Asia,’ and other such +works, I had reviewed in the ‘Athenæum.’ +I do not hesitate for a moment to say that Traill was a man of +genius. Had he lived fifty years earlier, such a writer as +he who wrote ‘The New Lucian,’ ‘Recaptured +Rhymes,’ ‘Saturday Songs,’ ‘The +Canaanitish Press’ and ‘Israelitish Questions,’ +‘the Life of Sterne,’ and the brilliant articles in +the ‘Saturday Review’ and the ‘Pall Mall +Gazette,’ would have made an unforgettable mark in +literature. But there is no room for anybody now—no +room for anybody but the very, very few. When he was about +starting ‘Literature,’ he wrote to me, and a +gratifying letter it was. He said that, although he had no +desire to wean me from the ‘Athenæum,’ he +should be delighted to receive anything from me when I chanced to +be able to spare him something. It was always an aspiration +of mine to send something to a paper edited by so important a +literary figure—a paper, let me say, that had a finer, +sweeter tone than any other paper of my time—I mean, that +tone of fine geniality upon which I have often commented, that +tone without which, ‘there can be no true +criticism.’ A certain <a name="page245"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 245</span>statesman of our own period, who had +pursued literature with success, used to say (alluding to a paper +of a very different kind, now dead), that the besetting sin of +the literary class is that lack of gentlemanlike feeling one +towards another which is to be seen in all the other educated +classes. This might have been so then, but, through the +influence mainly of ‘Literature’ and H. D. Traill, it +is not so now. Many people have speculated as to why a +literary journal, edited by such a man, and borne into the +literary arena on the doughty back of the ‘Times,’ +did not succeed. I have a theory of my own upon that +subject. Although Traill’s hands were so full of all +kinds of journalistic and magazine work in other quarters, it is +a mistake to suppose that his own journal was badly edited. +It was well edited, and it had a splendid staff, but several +things were against it. It confined itself to literature, +and did not, as far as I remember, give its attention to much +else. Its price was sixpence; but its chief cause of +failure was what I may call its ‘personal +appearance.’ If personal appearance is an enormously +powerful factor at the beginning of the great human struggle for +life, it is at the first quite as important a factor in the life +struggle of a newspaper or a magazine. When the +‘Saturday Review’ was started, its personal +appearance—something quite new then—did almost as +much for it as the brilliant writing. It was the same with +the ‘Pall Mall Gazette’ when it started. +Carlyle was quite right in thinking that there is a great deal in +clothes. Now, as I told Traill when we were talking about +this, ‘Literature’ in appearance seemed an uninviting +cross between the ‘Law Times’ and ‘The +Lancet’—it seemed difficult to connect the +unbusiness-like genius of literature with such a <a +name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +246</span>business-like looking sheet as that. Traill +laughed, but ended by saying that he believed there was a great +deal in that notion of mine. Some one was telling me the +other day that Traill, who died only about four years ago, was +beginning to be forgotten. I should be sorry indeed to +think that. All that I can say is that for a book such as +yours to be written about me, and no book to be written about +Traill, presents itself to my mind as being as grotesque an idea +as any that Traill’s own delightful whimsical imagination +could have pictured.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Of course I comply with Mr. Watts-Dunton’s wishes, and I +do this with the more alacrity because there is this connection +between the essay on Sterne and the imaginative work—the +theory of absolute humour exemplified in Mrs. Gudgeon is very +brilliantly expounded in the article. It was a review of +Traill’s ‘Sterne,’ in the ‘English Men of +Letters,’ and it appeared in the +‘Athenæum’ of November 18, 1882. I will +quote the greater part of it:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Contemporary humour, for the most part, +even among cultivated writers, is in temper either cockney or +Yankee, and both Sterne and Cervantes are necessarily more talked +about than studied, while Addison as a humorist is not even +talked about. In gauging the quality of poetry—in +finding for any poet his proper place in the poetic +heavens—there is always uncertainty and difficulty. +With humour, however, this difficulty does not exist, if we bear +steadily in mind that all humour is based upon a simple sense of +incongruous relations, and that the quality of every man’s +humour depends upon the kind of incongruity which he recognizes +and finds laughable. If, for instance, he shows himself to +<a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>have no +sense of any incongruities deeper than those disclosed by the +parodist and the punster, his relation to the real humourist and +the real wit is that of a monkey to a man; for although the real +humourist may descend to parody, and the real wit may descend to +punning, as Aristophanes did, the pun and the parody are charged +with some deeper and richer intent. Again, if a man’s +sense of humour, like that of the painter of society, is confined +to a sense of the incongruous relations existing between +individual eccentricity and the social conventions by which it is +surrounded, he may be a humourist no doubt—according, at +least, to the general acceptation of that word, though a +caricaturist according to a definition of humour and caricature +which we once ventured upon in these columns; but his humour is +jejune, and delightful to the Philistine only. If, like +that of Cervantes and (in a lower degree) Fielding, Thackeray, +and Dickens, a writer’s sense of the incongruous is deeper +than this, but is confined nevertheless to what Mr. Traill calls +‘the irony of human intercourse,’ he is indeed a +humourist, and in the case of Cervantes a very great humourist, +yet not necessarily of the greatest; for just as the greatest +poet must have a sense of the highest and deepest harmonies +possible for the soul of man to apprehend, so the greatest +humourist must have a sense of the highest and deepest +incongruities possible. And it will be found that these +harmonies and these incongruities lie between the very +‘order of the universe’ itself and the mind of +man. In certain temperaments the eternal incongruities +between man’s mind and the scheme of the universe produce, +no doubt, the pessimism of Schopenhauer and Novalis; but to other +temperaments—to a Rabelais or Sterne, for +instance—the apprehension of them turns the cosmos into +disorder, turns <a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +248</span>it into something like that boisterous joke which to +most temperaments is only possible under the excitement of some +‘paradis artificiel.’ Great as may be the +humourist whose sense of irony is that of ‘human +intercourse,’ if he has no sense of this much deeper +irony—the irony of man’s intercourse with the +universal harmony itself—he cannot be ranked with the very +greatest. Of this irony in the order of things Aristophanes +and Rabelais had an instinctive, while Richter had an +intellectual enjoyment. Of Swift and Carlyle it might be +said that they had not so much an enjoyment as a terrible +apprehension of it. And if we should find that this quality +exists in ‘Tristram Shandy,’ how high, then, must we +not place Sterne! And if we should find that Cervantes +deals with the ‘irony of human intercourse’ merely, +and that his humour is, with all its profundity, terrene, what +right have critics to set Cervantes above Sterne? Why is +the sense of incongruity upon which the humour of Cervantes is +based so melancholy? Because it only sees the farce from +the human point of view. The sad smile of Cervantes is the +tearful humour of a soul deeply conscious of man’s +ludicrous futility in his relations to his fellow-man. But +while the futilities of ‘Don Quixote’ are tragic +because terrene, the futilities of ‘Tristram Shandy’ +are comic because they are derived from the order of +things. It is the great humourist Circumstance who causes +Mrs. Shandy to think of the clock at the most inopportune moment, +and who, stooping down from above the constellations, interferes +to flatten Tristram’s nose. And if Circumstance +proves to be so fond of fun, he must be found in the end a +benevolent king; and hence all is well.</p> +<p>While, however, it is, as we say, easy in a general way to +gauge a humourist and find his proper place, it <a +name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>is not easy +to bring Sterne under a classification. In Sterne’s +writings every kind of humour is to be found, from a style of +farce which even at Crazy Castle must have been pronounced too +wild, up to humour as chaste and urbane as Addison’s, and +as profound and dramatic as Shakespeare’s. In loving +sympathy with stupidity, for instance, even Shakespeare is +outdone by Sterne in his ‘fat, foolish +scullion.’ Lower than the Dogberry type there is a +type of humanity made up of animal functions merely, to whom the +mere fact of being alive is the one great triumph. While +the news of Bobby’s death, announced by Obadiah in the +kitchen, suggests to Susannah the various acquisitions to herself +that must follow such a sad calamity to the ‘fat, foolish +scullion,’ scrubbing her pans on the floor, it merely +recalls the great triumphant fact of her own life, and +consequently to the wail that ‘Bobby is certainly +dead’ her soul merely answers as she scrubs, ‘So am +not I.’ In four words that scullion lives for +ever.</p> +<p>Sterne’s humour, in short, is Shakespearean and +Rabelaisian, Cervantic and Addisonian too; how, then, shall we +find a place for such a Proteus? So great is the plasticity +of genius, so readily at first does it answer to impressions from +without, that in criticizing its work it is always necessary +carefully to pierce through the method and seek the essential +life by force of which methods can work. Sterne having, as +a student of humourous literature, enjoyed the mirthful abandon +of Rabelais no less than the pensive irony of Cervantes, it was +inevitable that his methods should oscillate between that of +Rabelais on the one hand, and that of Cervantes on the other, and +that at first this would be so without Sterne’s natural +endowment of humour being necessarily either Rabelaisian or +Cervantic, that is to say, <a name="page250"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 250</span>either lyric or dramatic, either the +humour of animal mirth or the humour of philosophic +meditation. But the more deeply we pierce underneath his +methods, the more certainly shall we find that he was by nature +the very Proteus of humour which he pretended to be. And +after all this is the important question as regards Sterne. +Lamb’s critical acuteness is nowhere more clearly seen than +in that sentence where he speaks of his own ‘self-pleasing +quaintness.’ When any form of art departs in any way +from symmetrical and normal lines, the first question to ask +concerning it is this: Is it self-pleasing or is it artificial +and histrionic? That which pleases the producer may perhaps +not please us; but if we feel that it does not really and truly +please the artist himself, the artist becomes a mountebank, and +we turn away in disgust. In the humourous portions of +Sterne’s work there is, probably, not a page, however +nonsensical, which he did not write with gusto, and therefore, +bad as some of it may be, it is not to the true critic an +offence. . . .</p> +<p>‘Yorickism’ is, there is scarcely need to say, the +very opposite of the humour of Swift. One recognizes that +the universe is rich in things to laugh at and to love; the other +recognizes that the universe is rich in things to laugh at and to +hate. One recognizes that among these absurd things there +is nothing else so absurd and (because so absurd) so lovable as a +man; the other recognizes that there is nothing else so absurd +and (because so absurd) so hateful as a man. The +intellectual process is the same; the difference lies in the +temperament—the temperament of Jaques and the temperament +of Apemantus. And in regard to misanthropic ridicule it is +difficult to say which fate is more terrible, Swift’s or +Carlyle’s—that of the man whose heart must needs <a +name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 251</span>yearn +towards a race which his piercing intellect bids him hate, or +that of the man, religious, conscientious, and good, who would +fain love his fellows and cannot. It is idle for men of +this kind to try to work in the vein of Yorick. It needs +the sweet temper of him who at the Mermaid kept the table in a +roar, or of him who, in the words of the ‘cadet of the +house of Keppoch,’ was ‘sometimes called Tristram +Shandy and sometimes Yorick, a very great favourite of the +gentlemen.’ Sterne, like Jaques and Hamlet, deals +with ‘the irony of human intercourse,’ but what he +specially recognizes is a deeper irony still—the irony of +man’s intercourse with himself and with nature, the irony +of the intercourse between man the spiritual being and man the +physical being—the irony, in short, of man’s position +amid these natural conditions of life and death. It is in +the apprehension of this anomaly—a spiritual nature +enclosed in a physical nature—that Sterne’s strength +lies.</p> +<p>Man, the ‘fool of nature,’ prouder than Lucifer +himself, yet ‘bounded in a nutshell,’ brother to the +panniered donkey, and held of no more account by the winds and +rains of heaven than the poor little ‘beastie’ whose +house is ruined by the ploughshare—here is, indeed, a +creature for Swift and Carlyle and Sterne and Burns to marvel at +and to laugh at, but with what different kinds of laughter! +There is nothing incongruous in the condition of the lower +animals, because they are in entire harmony with their natural +surroundings; there is nothing more absurd in the existence and +the natural functions of a horse or a cow than in the existence +and the natural functions of the grass upon which they feed; but +imagine a spiritual being so placed, so surrounded, and so +functioned, and you get an absurdity compared with which all +other absurdities are <a name="page252"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 252</span>non-existent, or, at least, are fit +quarry for the satirist, but hardly for the humourist. That +Sterne’s donkey should owe his existence to the exercise of +certain natural functions on the part of his unconscious +progenitors, that he should continue to hold his place by the +exercise on his own part of certain other natural functions, is +in no way absurd, and contains in it no material for humoristic +treatment. To render him absurd you must bring him into +relation with man; you must clap upon his back panniers of human +devising or give him macaroons kneaded by a human cook. +Then to the general observer he becomes absurd, for he is tried +by human standards. But to Yorick it is not so much the +donkey who is absurd as the fantastic creature who made the +panniers and cooked the macaroons. All other humour is thin +compared with this. Besides, it never grows old. It +is difficult, no doubt, to think that the humour of Cervantes +will ever lose its freshness; but the kind of humour we have +called Yorickism will be immortal, for no advance in human +knowledge can dim its lustre. Certainly up to the present +moment the anomaly of man’s position upon the planet is not +lessened by the revelations of science as to his origin and +development. On the contrary, it is increased, as we hinted +in speaking of Thoreau. If man was a strange and anomalous +‘piece of work’ as Hamlet knew him under the old +cosmogony, what a ‘piece of work’ does he appear +now! He has the knack of advancing and leaving the +woodchucks behind, but how has he done it? By the fact of +his being the only creature out of harmony with surrounding +conditions. A contented conservatism is the primary +instinct of the entire animal kingdom, and if any species should +change, it is not (as Lamarck once supposed) from any +‘inner yearning’ for progress, but <a +name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>because it +was pushed on by overmastering circumstances. An ungulate +becomes the giraffe, not because it is uncomfortable in its old +condition and yearns for giraffe-hood, but because, being driven +from grass to leaves by natural causes, it must elongate its neck +or starve. But man really has this yearning for progress, +and, because he is out of harmony with everything, he advances +till at last he turns all the other creatures into food or else +into weight-carriers, and outstrips them so completely that he +forgets he is one of them. If Uncle Toby’s +progenitors were once as low down in the scale of life as the fly +that buzzed about his nose, the fly had certainly more right to +buzz than had that over-developed, incongruous creature, Captain +Shandy, to be disturbed at its buzzing, and the patronizing +speech of the captain as he opens the window gains an added +humour, for it is the fly that should patronize and take pity +upon the man.</p> +<p>And while Sterne’s abiding sense of the struggle between +man’s spiritual nature and the conditions of his physical +nature accounts for the metaphysical depth of some of his humour, +it greatly accounts for his indecencies too. Sterne had +that instinct for idealizing women, and the entire relations +between the sexes which accompanies the poetic temperament. +To such natures the spiritual side of sexual relations is ever +present; and as a consequence of this the animal side never loses +with them the atmosphere of wonder with which it was enveloped in +their boyish days. Not that we are going to justify +Sterne’s indecencies. Coleridge’s remark that +the pleasure Sterne got from his double entendre was akin to +‘that trembling daring with which a child touches a hot +teapot because it has been forbidden,’ partly explains, but +it does not excuse, Sterne’s transgressions <a +name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +254</span>herein. The fact seems to be that if we divide +love into the passion of love, the sentiment of love, and the +appetite of love, and inquire which of these was really known to +Sterne, we shall come to what will seem to most readers the +paradoxical conclusion that it was the sentiment only. +There is abundant proof of this. In the ‘Letter to +the Earl of —,’ printed by his daughter, after +dilating upon the manner in which the writing of the +‘Sentimental Journey’ has worn out both his spirits +and body, he says: ‘I might indeed solace myself with my +wife (who is come to France), but, in fact, I have long been a +sentimental being, whatever your lordship may think to the +contrary. The world has imagined because I wrote +“Tristram Shandy” that I was myself more Shandian +than I really ever was.’ Upon this passage Mr. Traill +has the pertinent remark: ‘The connubial affections are +here, in all seriousness and good faith apparently, opposed to +the sentimental emotions—as the lower to the higher. +To indulge the former is to be “Shandian,” that is to +say, coarse and carnal; to devote oneself to the latter, or, in +other words, to spend one’s days in semi-erotic +languishings over the whole female sex indiscriminately, is to +show spirituality and taste.’ Now, to men of this +kind there is not uncommonly, perhaps, a charm in a licentious +double entendre which is quite inscrutable to those of a more +animal temperament. The incongruity between the ideal and +the actual relations brings poignant distress at first, and +afterwards a sense of irresistible absurdity. Originally +the fascination of repulsion, it becomes the fascination of +attraction, and it is not at all fanciful to say that in Uncle +Toby and the Widow Wadman, Sterne (quite unconsciously to himself +perhaps) realized to his own mind those two <a +name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>opposite +sides of man’s nature whose conflict in some form or +another was ever present to Sterne’s mind. And, as we +say, it has a deep relation to the kind of humour with which +Sterne was so richly endowed. After one of his most +sentimental flights, wherein the spiritual side of man is +absurdly exaggerated, there comes upon him a sudden revulsion +(which at first was entirely natural, if even self-conscious +afterwards). The incongruity of all this sentiment with +man’s actual condition as an animal strikes him with +irresistible force, and he says to man, ‘What right have +you in that galley after all—you who came into the world in +this extremely unspiritual fashion and keep in it by the agency +of functions which are if possible more unspiritual and more +absurd still?’</p> +<p>No doubt the universal sense of shame in connection with +sexual matters, which Hartley has discussed in his subtle but +rather far-fetched fashion, arises from an acute apprehension of +this great and eternal incongruity of man’s +existence—the conflict of a spiritual nature and such +aspirations as man’s with conditions entirely +physical. And perhaps the only truly philosophical +definition of the word ‘indecency’ would be this: +‘A painful and shocking contrast of man’s spiritual +with his physical nature.’ When Hamlet, with his +finger on Yorick’s skull, declares that his ‘gorge +rises at it,’ and asks if Alexander’s skull +‘smelt so,’ he shocks us as deeply in a serious way +as Sterne in his allusion to the winding up of the clock shocks +us in a humourous way, and to express the sensation they each +give there is, perhaps, no word but +‘indecent.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I have now cited the opinions of Mr. Watts-Dunton upon the +metaphysical meaning of humour. In order to show what are +his opinions upon wit, I think I shall do well to turn from the +‘Athenæum’ articles, and to quote from <a +name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 256</span>the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ a few sentences upon +wit, and upon the distinction between comedy and farce. For +the obvious reason that the ‘Athenæum’ articles +are buried in oblivion, and the ‘Encyclopædia +Britannica’ articles are certainly not so deeply buried, it +is from the former that I have been mainly quoting; but some of +the most important parts of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work are to +be found in the ‘Encyclopædia +Britannica.’ Perhaps, however, I had better introduce +my citations by saying a few words about Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +connection with that work.</p> +<p>The story of the way in which he came to write in the +‘Encyclopædia’ has been often told by Prof. +Minto. At the time when the ninth edition was started, he +and Mr. Watts-Dunton were living in adjoining chambers and were +seeing each other constantly. When Minto was writing his +articles upon Byron and Dickens, he told Mr. Watts-Dunton that +Baynes would be delighted to get work from him. But at that +time Mr. Watts-Dunton had got more critical work in hand than he +wanted, and besides he had already a novel and a body of poetry +ready for the press, and wished to confine his energies to +creative work. Besides this, he felt, as he declared, that +he could not do the work fitted for the compact, businesslike +pedestrian style of an encyclopædia. But when the +most important treatise in the literary department of the +work—the treatise on Poetry—was wanted, a peculiar +difficulty in selecting the writer was felt. The article in +the previous edition had been written by David Macbeth Moir, +famous under the name of ‘Delta’ as the author of +‘The Autobiography of Mansie Wauch.’ +Moir’s article was intelligent enough, but quite inadequate +to such a work as the publishers of <a name="page257"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 257</span>the ‘Encyclopædia’ +aspired to make. A history of Poetry was, of course, quite +impossible; it followed that the treatise must be an essay on the +principles of poetic art in relation to all other arts, as +exemplified by the poetry of the great literatures. It was +decided, according to Minto’s account, that there were but +three men, that is to say, Swinburne, Matthew Arnold, and +Theodore Watts, who could produce this special kind of work, the +other critics being entirely given up to the historic method of +criticism. The choice fell upon Watts, and Baynes went to +London for the purpose of inviting him to do the work, and +explaining exactly what was wanted.</p> +<p>I think all will agree with me that there never was a happier +choice. Mr. Arthur Symons, in an article on ‘The +Coming of Love’ in the ‘Saturday Review’ has +written very luminously upon this subject. He tells us +that, wide as is the sweep of the treatise, it is but a brilliant +fragment, owing to the treatise having vastly overflowed the +space that could be given to it. The truth is that the +essay is but the introduction to an exhaustive discussion of what +the writer believes to be the most important event in the history +of all poetry—the event discussed under the name of +‘The Renascence of Wonder.’ The introduction to +the third volume of the new edition of Chambers’s +‘Cyclopædia of English Literature’ is but a +bare outline of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s writings upon this +subject. It has been said over and over again that since +the best critical work of Coleridge there has been nothing in our +literature to equal this treatise on Poetry. It has been +exhaustively discussed in England, America, and on the Continent, +especially in Germany, where it has been compared to the critical +system of Goethe. Those who <a name="page258"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 258</span>have not read it will be surprised +to hear that it is not confined to the formulating of +generalizations on poetic art; it is full of eloquent passages on +human life and human conduct.</p> +<p>It was in an article upon a Restoration comic dramatist, +Vanbrugh, that Mr. Watts-Dunton first formulated his famous +distinction between comedy and farce:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“In order to find and fix Vanbrugh’s +place among English comic dramatists, an examination of the very +basis of the comedy of repartee inaugurated by Etheredge would be +necessary, and, of course, such an examination would be +impossible here. It is chiefly as a humourist, however, +that he demands attention.</p> +<p>Given the humorous temperament—the temperament which +impels a man to get his enjoyment by watching the harlequinade of +life, and contrasting it with his own ideal standard of good +sense, which the harlequinade seems to him to mock and +challenge—given this temperament, then the quality of its +humourous growth depends of course on the quality of the +intellectual forces by means of which the temperament gains +expression. Hence it is very likely that in original +endowment of humour, as distinguished from wit, Vanbrugh was +superior to Congreve. And this is saying a great deal: for, +while Congreve’s wit has always been made much of, it has, +since Macaulay’s time, been the fashion among critics to do +less than justice to his humour—a humour which, in such +scenes as that in ‘Love for Love,’ where Sir Sampson +Legend discourses upon the human appetites and functions, moves +beyond the humour of convention and passes into natural +humour. It is, however, in spontaneity, in a kind of +lawless merriment, almost Aristophanic in its verve, that +Vanbrugh’s <a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +259</span>humour seems so deep and so fine, seems indeed to +spring from a fountain deeper and finer and rarer than +Congreve’s. A comedy of wit, like every other drama, +is a story told by action and dialogue, but to tell a story +lucidly and rapidly by means of repartee is exceedingly +difficult, not but that it is easy enough to produce +repartee. But in comic dialogue the difficulty is to move +rapidly and yet keep up the brilliant ball-throwing demanded in +this form; and without lucidity and rapidity no drama, whether of +repartee or of character, can live. Etheredge, the father +of the comedy of repartee, has at length had justice done to him +by Mr. Gosse. Not only could Etheredge tell a story by +means of repartee alone: he could produce a tableau too; so could +Congreve, and so also could Vanbrugh; but often—far too +often—Vanbrugh’s tableau is reached, not by fair +means, as in the tableau of Congreve, but by a surrendering of +probability, by a sacrifice of artistic fusion, by an inartistic +mingling of comedy and farce, such as Congreve never indulges +in. Jeremy Collier was perfectly right, therefore, in his +strictures upon the farcical improbabilities of the +‘Relapse.’ So farcical indeed are the tableaux +in that play that the broader portions of it were (as Mr. +Swinburne discovered) adapted by Voltaire and acted at Sceaux as +a farce. Had we space here to contrast the +‘Relapse’ with the ‘Way of the World,’ we +should very likely come upon a distinction between comedy and +farce such as has never yet been drawn. We should find that +farce is not comedy with a broadened grin—Thalia with her +girdle loose and run wild—as the critics seem to +assume. We should find that the difference between the two +is not one of degree at all, but rather one of kind, and that +mere breadth of fun has nothing to do with the question. No +doubt the fun of <a name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +260</span>comedy may be as broad as that of farce, as is shown +indeed by the celebrated Dogberry scenes in ‘Much Ado about +Nothing’ and by the scene in ‘Love for Love’ +between Sir Sampson Legend and his son, alluded to above; but +here, as in every other department of art, all depends upon the +quality of the imaginative belief that the artist seeks to arrest +and secure. Of comedy the breath of life is dramatic +illusion. Of farce the breath of life is mock +illusion. Comedy, whether broad or genteel, pretends that +its mimicry is real. Farce, whether broad or genteel, makes +no such pretence, but, by a thousand tricks, which it keeps up +between itself and the audience, says, ‘My acting is all +sham, and you know it.’ Now, while Vanbrugh was apt +too often to forget this the fundamental difference between +comedy and farce, Congreve never forgot it, Wycherly +rarely. Not that there should be in any literary form any +arbitrary laws. There is no arbitrary law declaring that +comedy shall not be mingled with farce, and yet the fact is that +in vital drama they cannot be so mingled. The very laws of +their existence are in conflict with each other, so much so that +where one lives the other must die, as we see in the drama of our +own day. The fact seems to be that probability of incident, +logical sequence of cause and effect, are as necessary to comedy +as they are to tragedy, while farce would stifle in such an +air. Rather, it would be poisoned by it, just as comedy is +poisoned by what farce flourishes on; that is to say, +inconsequence of reasoning—topsy-turvy logic. Born in +the fairy country of topsy-turvy, the logic of farce would be +illogical if it were not upside-down. So with coincidence, +with improbable accumulation of convenient events—farce can +no more exist without these than comedy can exist with +them. Hence we affirm that <a name="page261"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 261</span>Jeremy Collier’s strictures on +the farcical adulterations of the ‘Relapse’ pierce +more deeply into Vanbrugh’s art than do the criticisms of +Leigh Hunt and Hazlitt. In other words, perhaps the same +lack of fusion which mars Vanbrugh’s architectural ideas +mars also his comedy.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Without for a moment wishing to institute comparisons between +the merit of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s literary articles and the +merit of other literary articles by other contemporary writers, I +may at least say that between his articles and theirs the +difference is not one of degree, it is one of kind. Theirs +are compact, business-like compressions of facts admirably fitted +for an Encyclopædia. No attempt is made to formulate +generalizations upon the principles of literary art, and this +must be said in their praise—they are faultless as articles +in a book of reference. But no student of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s work who turns over the pages of an article +in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ can fail after +reading a few sentences to recognize the author. +Generalizations, hints of daring theories, novel and startling +speculations, graze each other’s heels, until one is +dazzled by the display of intellectual brilliance. That his +essays are out of place in an Encyclopædia may be true, but +they seem to lighten and alleviate it and to shed his fascinating +idiosyncrasy upon their coldly impersonal environment.</p> +<h2><a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +262</span>Chapter XVII<br /> +‘THE LIFE POETIC’</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p262b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"‘The Pines.’ (From a Drawing by Herbert Railton.)" +title= +"‘The Pines.’ (From a Drawing by Herbert Railton.)" +src="images/p262s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I have been allowed to enrich this volume with photographs of +‘The Pines’ and of some of the exquisite works of art +therein. But it is unfortunate for me that I am not allowed +to touch upon what are the most important relations of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s life—important though so many of them +are. I mean his intimacy with the poet whose name is now +beyond doubt far above any other name in the contemporary world +of letters. I do not sympathize with the +hyper-sensitiveness of eminent men with regard to privacy. +The inner chamber of what Rossetti calls the ‘House of +Life’ should be kept sacred. But Rossetti’s own +case shows how impossible it is in these days to keep those +recesses inviolable. The fierce light that beats upon men +of genius grows fiercer and fiercer every day, and it cannot be +quenched. This was one of my arguments when I first +answered Mr. Watts-Dunton’s own objection to the appearance +of this monograph. The times have changed since he was a +young man. Then publicity was shunned like a plague by +poets and by painters. If such men wish the light to be +true as well as fierce, they must allow their friends to +illuminate their ‘House of Life’ by the lamp of +truth. If Rossetti during his lifetime had allowed one of +his friends who knew the secrets of his ‘House of +Life’ to write about him, we might have been spared those +<a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 263</span>canards +about him and the wife he loved which were rife shortly after his +death. Byron’s reluctance to take payment for his +poetry was not a more belated relic of an old quixotism than is +this dying passion for privacy. Publicity may be an evil, +but it is an inevitable evil, and great men must not let the +wasps and the gadflies monopolize its uses. It may be a +reminiscence of an older and a nobler social temper, the temper +under the influence of which Rossetti in 1870 said that he felt +abashed because a paragraph had appeared in the +‘Athenæum’ announcing the fact that a book from +him was forthcoming. But that temper has gone by for +ever. We live now in very different times. Scores +upon scores of unauthorized and absolutely false paragraphs about +eminent men are published, especially about these two friends who +have lived their poetic life together for more than a quarter of +a century. Only the other day I saw in a newspaper an +offensive descriptive caricature of Mr. Swinburne, of his dress, +etc. It is interesting to recall the fact that mendacious +journalism was the cause of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s very first +contribution to the ‘Athenæum,’ before he wrote +any reviews at all. At that time the offenders seem to have +been chiefly Americans. The article was not a review, but a +letter signed ‘Z,’ entitled ‘The Art of +Interviewing,’ and it appeared in the +‘Athenæum,’ of March 11, 1876. As it +shows the great Swinburne myth in the making, I will reproduce +this merry little skit:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Alas! there is none of us without +his skeleton-closet,’ said a great writer to one who was +congratulating him upon having reached the goal for which he had, +from the first, set out. ‘My skeleton bears the +dreadful name of “American Interviewer.” Pity +me!’ ‘Is he <a name="page264"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 264</span>an American with a diary in his +pocket?’ was the terrified question always put by another +man of genius, whenever you proposed introducing a stranger to +him. But this was in those ingenuous Parker-Willisian days +when the ‘Interviewer’ merely invented the +dialogue—not the entire dramatic action—not the +interview itself. Primitive times! since when the +‘Interviewer’ has developed indeed! His +dramatic inspiration now is trammelled by none of those foolish +and arbitrary conditions which—whether his scene of action +was at the ‘Blue Posts’ with Thackeray, or in the +North with Scottish lords—vexed and bounded the noble soul +of the great patriarch of the tribe. Uncribbed, uncabined, +unconfined, the ‘Interviewer’ now invents, not merely +the dialogue, but the ‘situation,’ the place, the +time—the interview itself. Every dramatist has his +favourite character—Sophocles had his; Shakspeare had his; +Schiller had his; the ‘Interviewer’ has his. +Mr. Swinburne has, for the last two or three years, +been—for some reason which it might not be difficult to +explain—the ‘Interviewer’s’ special +favourite. Moreover, the accounts of the interviews with +him are always livelier than any others, inasmuch as they are +accompanied by brilliant fancy-sketches of his personal +appearance—sketches which, if they should not gratify him +exactly, would at least astonish him; and it is surely something +to be even astonished in these days. Some time ago, for +instance, an American lady journalist, connected with a +‘Western newspaper,’ made her appearance in London, +and expressed many ‘great desires,’ the greatest of +all her ‘desires’ being to know the author of +‘Atalanta,’ or, if she could not know him, at least +to ‘see him.’</p> +<p>The Fates, however, were not kind to the lady. The +author of ‘Atalanta’ had quitted London. She +did <a name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 265</span>not +see him, therefore—not with her bodily eyes could she see +him. Yet this did not at all prevent her from +‘interviewing’ him. Why should it? The +‘soul hath eyes and ears’ as well as the +body—especially if the soul is an American soul, with a +mission to ‘interview.’ There soon appeared in +the lady’s Western newspaper a graphic account of one of +the most interesting interviews with this poet that has ever yet +been recorded. Mr. Swinburne—though at the time in +Scotland—‘called’ upon the lady at her rooms in +London; but, notwithstanding this unexampled feat of courtesy, he +seems to have found no favour in the lady’s eyes. She +‘misliked him for his complexion.’ Evidently it +was nothing but good-breeding that prevented her from telling the +bard, on the spot, that he was physically an unlovely bard. +His manners, too, were but so-so; and the Western lady was +shocked and disgusted, as well she might be. In the midst +of his conversation, for example, he called out frantically for +‘pen and ink.’ He had become suddenly and +painfully ‘afflated.’ When furnished with pen +and ink he began furiously writing a poem, beating the table with +his left hand and stamping the floor with both feet as he did +so. Then, without saying a word, he put on his hat and +rushed from the room like a madman! This account was copied +into other newspapers and into the magazines. It is, in +fact, a piece of genuine history now, and will form valuable +material for some future biographer of the poet. The +stubborn shapelessness of facts has always distressed the +artistically-minded historian. But let the American +‘Interviewer’ go on developing thus, and we may look +for History’s becoming far more artistic and symmetrical in +future. The above is but one out of many instances of the +art of interviewing.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 266</span>It is +all very well to say that irresponsible statements of this kind +are not in the true sense of the word believed by readers; they +create an atmosphere of false mist which destroys altogether the +picture of the poet’s life which one would like to +preserve. And I really think that it would have been better +if I or some one else among the friends of the poets had been +allowed to write more freely about the beautiful and intellectual +life at ‘The Pines.’ But I am forbidden to do +this, as the following passage in a letter which I have received +from Mr. Watts-Dunton will show:</p> +<blockquote><p>“I cannot have anything about our life at +‘The Pines’ put into print, but I will grant you +permission to give a few reproductions of the interesting works +of art here, for many of them may have a legitimate interest for +the public on account of their historic value, as having come to +me from the magician of art, Rossetti. And I assure you +that this is a concession which I have denied to very many +applicants, both among friends and others.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p266b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Lacquer +Cabinet" +title= +"A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Lacquer +Cabinet" +src="images/p266s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton’s allusion to the Rossetti mementoes +requires a word of explanation. Rossetti, it seems, was +very fond of surprising his friends by unexpected tokens of +generosity. I have heard Mr. Watts-Dunton say that during +the week when he was moving into ‘The Pines,’ he +spent as usual Wednesday night at 16 Cheyne Walk, and he and +Rossetti sat talking into the small hours. Next morning +after breakfast he strolled across to Whistler’s house to +have a talk with the ever-interesting painter, and this resulted +in his getting home two hours later than usual. On reaching +the new house he saw a waggon standing in <a +name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>front of +it. He did not understand this, for the furniture from the +previous residence had been all removed. He went up to the +waggon, and was surprised to find it full of furniture of a +choice kind. But there was no need for him to give much +time to an examination of the furniture, for he found he was +familiar with every piece of it. It had come straight from +Rossetti’s house, having been secretly packed and sent off +by Dunn on the previous day. Some of the choicest things at +‘The Pines’ came in this way. Not a word had +Rossetti said about this generous little trick on the night +before. The superb Chinese cabinet, a photograph of which +appears in this book, belonged to Rossetti. It seems that +on a certain occasion Frederick Sandys, or some one else, told +Rossetti that the clever but ne’er-do-well artist, George +Chapman, had bought of a sea-captain, trading in Chinese waters, +a wonderful piece of lacquer work of the finest +period—before the Manchu pig-tail time. The captain +had bought it of a Frenchman who had aided in looting the +Imperial Palace. Rossetti, of course, could not rest until +he had seen it, and when he had seen it, he could not rest until +he had bought it of Chapman; and it was taken across to 16 Cheyne +Walk, where it was greatly admired. The captain had +barbarously mutilated it at the top in order to make it fit in +his cabin, and it remained in that condition for some +years. Afterwards Rossetti gave it to Mr. Watts-Dunton, who +got it restored and made up by the wonderful amateur carver, the +late Mr. T. Keynes, who did the carving on the painted cabinet +also photographed for this book. There is a long and +interesting story in connection with this piece of Chinese +lacquer, but I have no room to tell it here.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p268b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Summer at ‘The Pines’—I" +title= +"Summer at ‘The Pines’—I" +src="images/p268s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>All I am allowed to say about the relations between <a +name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>Mr. +Watts-Dunton and Mr. Swinburne is that the friendship began in +1872, that it soon developed into the closest intimacy, not only +with the poet himself, but with all his family. In 1879 the +two friends became house-mates at ‘The Pines,’ Putney +Hill, and since then they have never been separated, for Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s visits to the Continent, notably those with +the late Dr. Hake recorded in ‘The New Day,’ took +place just before this time. The two poets thenceforth +lived together, worked together; saw their common friends +together, and travelled together. In 1882, after the death +of Rossetti they went to the Channel Islands, staying at St. +Peter’s Port, Guernsey, for some little time, and then at +Petit Bot Bay. Their swims in this beautiful bay Mr. +Watts-Dunton commemorated in two of the opening sonnets of +‘The Coming of Love’:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">NATURE’S FOUNTAIN +OF YOUTH</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">(A MORNING +SWIM OFF GUERNSEY WITH A FRIEND)</span></p> +<p> As if the Spring’s fresh groves should +change and shake<br /> +To dark green woods of Orient terebinth,<br /> +Then break to bloom of England’s hyacinth,<br /> +So ’neath us change the waves, rising to take<br /> +Each kiss of colour from each cloud and flake<br /> +Round many a rocky hall and labyrinth,<br /> +Where sea-wrought column, arch, and granite plinth,<br /> +Show how the sea’s fine rage dares make and break.<br /> +Young with the youth the sea’s embrace can lend,<br /> +Our glowing limbs, with sun and brine empearled,<br /> +Seem born anew, and in your eyes, dear friend,<br /> +Rare pictures shine, like fairy flags unfurled,<br /> +Of child-land, where the roofs of rainbows bend<br /> +Over the magic wonders of the world</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page269"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 269</span>THE LANGUAGE OF NATURE’S +FRAGRANCY</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">(THE +TIRING-ROOM IN THE ROCKS)</span></p> +<p>These are the ‘Coloured Caves’ the sea-maid +built;<br /> +Her walls are stained beyond that lonely fern,<br /> +For she must fly at every tide’s return,<br /> +And all her sea-tints round the walls are spilt.<br /> +Outside behold the bay, each headland gilt<br /> +With morning’s gold; far off the foam-wreaths burn<br /> +Like fiery snakes, while here the sweet waves yearn<br /> +Up sand more soft than Avon’s sacred silt.<br /> +And smell the sea! no breath of wood or field,<br /> +From lips of may or rose or eglantine,<br /> +Comes with the language of a breath benign,<br /> +Shuts the dark room where glimmers Fate revealed,<br /> +Calms the vext spirit, balms a sorrow unhealed,<br /> +Like scent of sea-weed rich of morn and brine.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The two friends afterwards went to Sark. A curious +incident occurred during their stay in the island. The two +poet-swimmers received a bravado challenge from +‘Orion’ Horne, who was also a famous swimmer, to swim +with him round the whole island of Sark! I need hardly say +that the absurd challenge was not accepted.</p> +<p>During the cruise Mr. Swinburne conceived and afterwards wrote +some glorious poetry. In the same year the two friends went +to Paris, as I have already mentioned, to assist at the Jubilee +of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse.’ Since then their +love of the English coasts and the waters which wash them, seems +to have kept them in England. For two consecutive years +they went to Sidestrand, on the Norfolk coast, for bathing. +It was there that Mr. Swinburne wrote some of his East Anglian +poems, and it was there that Mr. Watts-Dunton conceived the East +coast parts of ‘Aylwin.’ It was during one of +these visits that Mr. Swinburne first made the acquaintance of +Grant Allen, who had long been an intimate friend of <a +name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 270</span>Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s. The two, indeed, were drawn together +by the fact that they both enjoyed science as much as they +enjoyed literature. It was a very interesting meeting, as +Grant Allen had long been one of Swinburne’s most ardent +admirers, and his social charm, his intellectual sweep and +brilliance, made a great impression on the poet. Since then +their visits to the sea have been confined to parts of the +English Channel, such as Eastbourne, where they were near +neighbours of Rossetti’s friends, Lord and Lady Mount +Temple, between whom and Mr. Watts-Dunton there had been an +affectionate intimacy for many years—but more notably +Lancing, whither they went for three consecutive years. For +several years they stayed during their holiday with Lady Mary +Gordon, an aunt of Mr. Swinburne’s, at ‘The +Orchard,’ Niton Bay, Isle of Wight. During the hot +summer of 1904 they were lucky enough to escape to Cromer, where +the temperature was something like twenty degrees lower than that +of London. A curious incident occurred during this visit to +Cromer. One day Mr. Watts-Dunton took a walk with another +friend to ‘Poppy-land,’ where he and Mr. Swinburne +had previously stayed, in order to see there again the landslips +which he has so vividly described in ‘Aylwin.’ +While they were walking from ‘Poppyland’ to the old +ruined churchyard called ‘The Garden of Sleep,’ they +sat down for some time in the shade of an empty hut near the +cliff. Coming back Mr. Watts-Dunton said that the cliff +there was very dangerous, and ought to be fenced off, as the +fatal land-springs were beginning to show their work. Two +or three weeks after this a portion of the cliff at that point, +weighing many thousands of tons, fell into the sea, and the hut +with it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p270b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Chinese Divan +described in ‘Aylwin’" +title= +"A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Chinese Divan +described in ‘Aylwin’" +src="images/p270s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>A friendship so affectionate and so long as the friendship <a +name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 271</span>between +these two poets is perhaps without a parallel in +literature. It has been frequently and beautifully +commemorated. When Mr. Swinburne’s noble poem, +‘By the North Sea,’ was published, it was prefaced by +this sonnet:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">TO WALTER THEODORE +WATTS</p> +<p><span class="GutSmall">‘WE ARE WHAT SUNS AND WINDS AND +WATERS MAKE US.’</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">Landor.</p> +<p>Sea, wind, and sun, with light and sound and breath<br /> + The spirit of man fulfilling—these create<br +/> + That joy wherewith man’s life grown +passionate<br /> +Gains heart to hear and sense to read and faith<br /> +To know the secret word our Mother saith<br /> + In silence, and to see, though doubt wax great,<br +/> + Death as the shadow cast by life on fate,<br /> +Passing, whose shade we call the shadow of death.</p> +<p>Brother, to whom our Mother, as to me,<br /> + Is dearer than all dreams of days undone,<br /> +This song I give you of the sovereign three<br /> + That are, as life and sleep and death are, one:<br +/> +A song the sea-wind gave me from the sea,<br /> + Where nought of man’s endures before the +sun.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>1882 was a memorable year in the life of Mr. +Watts-Dunton. The two most important volumes of poetry +published in that year were dedicated to him. +Rossetti’s ‘Ballads and Sonnets,’ the book +which contains the chief work of his life, bore the following +inscription:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TO</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THEODORE WATTS</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE FRIEND WHOM MY VERSE WON FOR +ME,</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THESE FEW MORE PAGES</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 272</span>A few +weeks later Mr. Swinburne’s ‘Tristram of +Lyonesse,’ the volume which contains what I regard as his +ripest and richest poetry, was thus inscribed:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">TO MY BEST FRIEND</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THEODORE WATTS</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">I DEDICATE IN THIS BOOK</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE BEST I HAVE TO GIVE HIM.</span></p> +<p>Spring speaks again, and all our woods are stirred,<br /> + And all our wide glad wastes aflower around,<br /> + That twice have made keen April’s clarion +sound<br /> +Since here we first together saw and heard<br /> +Spring’s light reverberate and reiterate word<br /> + Shine forth and speak in season. Life stands +crowned<br /> + Here with the best one thing it ever found,<br /> +As of my soul’s best birthdays dawns the third.</p> +<p>There is a friend that as the wise man saith<br /> + Cleaves closer than a brother: nor to me<br /> + Hath time not shown, through days +like waves at strife<br /> +This truth more sure than all things else but death,<br /> + This pearl most perfect found in all the sea<br /> + That washes toward your feet these +waifs of life.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">The Pines</span>,<br /> + <i>April</i>, +1882.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But the finest of all these words of affection are perhaps +those opening the dedicatory epistle prefixed to the magnificent +Collected Edition of Mr. Swinburne’s poems issued by +Messrs. Chatto and Windus in 1904:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘To my best and dearest friend I dedicate +the first collected edition of my poems, and to him I address +what I have to say on the occasion.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Once also Mr. Watts-Dunton dedicated verses of his own to Mr. +Swinburne, to wit, in 1897, when he published <a +name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 273</span>that +impassioned lyric in praise of a nobler and larger Imperialism, +the ‘Jubilee Greeting at Spithead to the Men of Greater +Britain’:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“TO OUR GREAT +CONTEMPORARY WRITER OF<br /> +PATRIOTIC POETRY,<br /> +ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.</p> +<p>You and I are old enough to remember the time when, in the +world of letters at least, patriotism was not so fashionable as +it is now—when, indeed, love of England suggested +Philistinism rather than ‘sweetness and light.’ +Other people, such as Frenchmen, Italians, Irishmen, Hungarians, +Poles, might give voice to a passionate love of the land of their +birth, but not Englishmen. It was very curious, as I +thought then, and as I think now. And at that period love +of the Colonies was, if possible, even more out of fashion than +was love of England; and this temper was not confined to the +‘cultured’ class. It pervaded society and had +an immense influence upon politics. On one side the +Manchester school, religiously hoping that if the Colonies could +be insulted so effectually that they must needs (unless they +abandoned all self-respect) ‘set up for themselves,’ +the same enormous spurt would be given to British trade which +occurred after the birth of the United States, bade the Colonies +‘cut the painter.’ On the other hand the old +Tories and Whigs, with a few noble exceptions, having never +really abandoned the old traditions respecting the unimportance +of all matters outside the parochial circle of European +diplomacy, scarcely knew where the Colonies were situated on the +map.</p> +<p>There was, however, in these islands one person who saw as +clearly then as all see now the infinite importance of the +expansion of England to the true progress of <a +name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +274</span>mankind—the Great Lady whose praises in this +regard I have presumed to sing in the opening stanza of these +verses.</p> +<p>I may be wrong, but I, who am, as you know, no courtier, +believe from the bottom of my heart that without the influence of +the Queen this expansion would have been seriously delayed. +Directly and indirectly her influence must needs be enormous, +and, as regards this matter, it has always been +exercised—energetically and even eagerly exercised—in +one way. This being my view, I have for years been urging +more than one friend clothed with an authority such as I do not +possess to bring the subject prominently before the people of +England at a time when England’s expansion is a phrase in +everybody’s mouth. I have not succeeded. Let +this be my apology for undertaking the task myself and for +inscribing to you, as well as to the men of Greater Britain, +these lines.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p274b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Summer at ‘The Pines’—II" +title= +"Summer at ‘The Pines’—II" +src="images/p274s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I feel that it is a great privilege to be able to present to +my readers beautiful photogravures and photographs of interiors +and pictures and works of art at ‘The Pines.’ +Many of the pictures and other works of art at ‘The +Pines’ are mementoes of a most interesting kind.</p> +<p>Among these is the superb portrait of Madox Brown, at this +moment hanging in the Bradford Exhibition. Madox Brown +painted it for the owner. An interesting story is connected +with it. One day, not long after Mr. Watts-Dunton had +become intimate with Madox Brown, the artist told him he +specially wanted his boy Nolly to read to him a story that he had +been writing, and asked him to meet the boy at dinner.</p> +<p>‘Nolly been writing a story!’ exclaimed Mr. +Watts-Dunton.</p> +<p><a name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +275</span>‘I understand your smile,’ said Madox +Brown; ‘but you will find it better than you +think.’</p> +<p>At this time Oliver Madox Brown seemed a loose-limbed +hobbledehoy, young enough to be at school. After dinner +Oliver began to read the opening chapters of the story in a not +very impressive way, and Mr. Watts-Dunton suggested that he +should take it home and read it at his leisure. This was +agreed to. Pressure of affairs prevented him from taking it +up for some time. At last he did take it up, but he had +scarcely read a dozen pages when he was called away, and he asked +a member of his family to gather up the pages from the sofa and +put them into an escritoire. On his return home at a very +late hour he found the lady intently reading the manuscript, and +she declared that she could not go to bed till she had finished +it.</p> +<p>On the next day Mr. Watts-Dunton again took up the manuscript, +and was held spellbound by it. It was a story of passion, +of intense love, and intense hate, told with a crude power that +was irresistible.</p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton knew Smith Williams (the reader of Smith, +Elder & Co.), whose name is associated with ‘Jane +Eyre.’ He showed it to Williams, who was greatly +struck by it, but pointed out that it terminated in a violent +scene which the novel-reading public of that time would not like, +and asked for a concluding scene less daring. The ending +was modified, and the story, when it appeared, attracted very +great attention. Madox Brown was so grateful to Mr. +Watts-Dunton for his services in the matter that he insisted on +expressing his gratitude in some tangible form. Miss Lucy +Madox Brown (afterwards Mrs. W. M. Rossetti) was consulted, and +at once suggested a portrait of the painter, painted by +himself. This was done, and the result was the masterpiece +which <a name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +276</span>has been so often exhibited. From that moment +Oliver Madox Brown took his place in the literary world of his +time. The mention of Oliver Madox Brown will remind the +older generation of his friendship with Philip Bourke Marston, +the blind poet, one of the most pathetic chapters in literary +annals.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p276b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"‘Picture for a Story.’ (Face and Instrument +designed by D. G. Rossetti, background by Dunn.)" +title= +"‘Picture for a Story.’ (Face and Instrument +designed by D. G. Rossetti, background by Dunn.)" +src="images/p276s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Although Rossetti never fulfilled his intention of +illustrating what he called ‘Watts’s magnificent star +sonnet,’ he began what would have been a superb picture +illustrating Mr. Watts-Dunton’s sonnet, ‘The Spirit +of the Rainbow.’ He finished a large charcoal drawing +of it, which is thus described by Mr. William Sharp in his book, +‘Dante Gabriel Rossetti: a Record and a +Study’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It represents a female figure standing in a +gauzy circle composed of a rainbow, and on the frame is written +the following sonnet (the poem in question by Mr. +Watts-Dunton):</p> +<p style="text-align: center">THE WOOD-HAUNTER’S DREAM</p> +<p>The wild things loved me, but a wood-sprite said:<br /> + ‘Though meads are sweet when +flowers at morn uncurl,<br /> + And woods are sweet with +nightingale and merle,<br /> +Where are the dreams that flush’d thy childish bed?<br /> +The Spirit of the Rainbow thou would’st wed!’<br /> + I rose, I found her—found a rain-drenched +girl<br /> + Whose eyes of azure and limbs like roseate pearl<br +/> +Coloured the rain above her golden head.</p> +<p>But when I stood by that sweet vision’s side<br /> + I saw no more the Rainbow’s lovely stains;<br +/> +To her by whom the glowing heavens were dyed<br /> + The sun showed naught but dripping woods and +plains:<br /> + ‘God gives the world the Rainbow, her +the rains,’<br /> +The wood-sprite laugh’d, ‘Our seeker finds a +bride!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +277</span>Rossetti meant to have completed the design with the +‘woods and plains’ seen in perspective through the +arch; and the composition has an additional and special interest +because it is the artist’s only successful attempt at the +wholly nude—the ‘Spirit’ being extremely +graceful in poise and outline.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>I am able to give a reproduction of another of +Rossetti’s beautiful studies which has never been +published, but which has been very much talked about. Many +who have seen it at ‘The Pines’ agree with the late +Lord de Tabley that Rossetti in this crayon created the loveliest +of all his female faces. It is thus described by Mr. +William Sharp: “The drawing, which, for the sake of a name, +I will call ‘Forced Music,’ represents a nude +half-figure of a girl playing on a mediæval stringed +instrument elaborately ornamented. The face is of a type +unlike that of any other of the artist’s subjects, and +extraordinarily beautiful.”</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>I should explain that the background and the ragged garb of +the girl in the version of the picture here reproduced, are by +Dunn. These two exquisite drawings were made from the same +girl, who never sat for any other pictures. Her face has +been described as being unlike that of any other of +Rossetti’s models and yet combining the charm of them +all.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>I am strictly prohibited by the subject of this study from +giving any personal description of him. For my part I do +not sympathize with this extreme sensitiveness and dislike to +having one’s personal characteristics described <a +name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>in +print. What is there so dreadful or so sacred in mere +print? The feeling upon this subject is a reminiscence, I +think, of archaic times, when between conversation and printed +matter there was ‘a great gulf fixed.’ Both Mr. +Watts-Dunton and his friend Mr. Swinburne must be aware that as +soon as they have left any gathering of friends or strangers, +remarks—delicate enough, no doubt—are made about +them, as they are made about every other person who is talked +about in ever so small a degree. Not so very long ago I +remained in a room after Mr. Watts-Dunton had left it. +Straightway there were the freest remarks about him, not in the +least unkind, but free. Some did not expect to see so dark +a man; some expected to see him much darker than they found him +to be; some recalled the fact that Miss Corkran, in her +reminiscences, described his dark-brown eyes as +‘green’—through a printer’s error, no +doubt. Some then began to contrast his appearance with that +of his absent friend, Mr. Swinburne—and so on, and so +on. Now, what is the difference between being thus +discussed in print and in conversation? Merely that the +printed report reaches a wider—a little +wider—audience. That is all. I do not think it +is an unfair evasion of his prohibition to reproduce one of the +verbal snap-shots of him that have appeared in the papers. +Some energetic gentleman—possibly some one living in the +neighbourhood—took the following ‘Kodak’ of +him. It appeared in ‘M.A.P.’ and it is really +as good a thumb-nail portrait of him as could be painted. +In years to come, when he and I and the ‘Kodaker’ are +dead, it may be found more interesting, perhaps, than anything I +have written about him:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Every, or nearly every, morning, as the +first glimmer <a name="page279"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +279</span>of dawn lightens the sky, there appears on Wimbledon +Common a man, whose skin has been tanned by sun and wind to the +rich brown of the gypsies he loves so well; his forehead is +round, and fairly high; his brown eyes and the brow above them +give his expression a piercing appearance. For the rest, +his voice is firm and resonant, and his brown hair and thick +moustache are partially shot with grey. But he looks not a +day over forty-five. Generally he carries a book. +Often, however, he turns from it to watch the birds and the +rabbits. For—it will be news to lie-abeds of the +district—Wimbledon Common is lively with rabbits, revelling +in the freshness of the dawn, rabbits which ere the rush for the +morning train begins, will all have vanished until the moon rises +again. To him, morning, although he has seen more sunrises +than most men, still makes an ever fresh and glorious +pageant. This usually solitary figure is that of Mr. +Theodore Watts-Dunton, and to his habit of early rising the +famous poet, novelist, and critic ascribes his remarkable health +and vigour.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The holidays of the two poets have not been confined to their +visits to the sea-side. One place of retreat used to be the +residence of the late Benjamin Jowett, at Balliol, when the men +were down, or one of his country places, such as Boar’s +Hill.</p> +<p>I have frequently heard Mr. Swinburne and Mr. Watts-Dunton +talk about the famous Master of Balliol. I have heard Mr. +Swinburne recall the great admiration which Jowett used to +express for Mr. Watts-Dunton’s intellectual powers and +various accomplishments. There was no one, I have heard Mr. +Swinburne say, whom Jowett held in greater esteem. That air +of the college don, which has been described by certain of +Jowett’s friends, <a name="page280"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 280</span>left the Master entirely when he was +talking to Mr. Watts-Dunton.</p> +<p>Among the pleasant incidents in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s life +were these visits with Mr. Swinburne to Jowett’s house, +where he had the opportunity of meeting some of the most +prominent men of the time. He has described the Balliol +dinner parties, but I have no room here to do more than allude to +them. I must, however, quote his famous pen portrait of +Jowett which appeared in the ‘Athenæum’ of +December 22, 1894.</p> +<blockquote><p>“It may seem difficult to imagine many +points of sympathy between the poet of ‘Atalanta’ and +the student of Plato and translator of Thucydides; and yet the +two were bound to each other by ties of no common strength. +They took expeditions into the country together, and Mr. +Swinburne was a not infrequent guest at Balliol and also at +Jowett’s quiet autumnal retreat at Boar’s Hill. +The Master of Balliol, indeed, had a quite remarkable faculty of +drawing to himself the admiration of men of poetic genius. +To say which poet admired and loved him most +deeply—Tennyson, Browning, Matthew Arnold, or Mr. +Swinburne—would be difficult. He seemed to join their +hands all round him, and these intimacies with the poets were not +the result of the smallest sacrifice of independence on the part +of Jowett. He was always quite as frank in telling a poet +what he disliked in his verses as in telling him what he +liked. And although the poets of our own epoch are, +perhaps, as irritable a race as they were in times past, and are +as little impervious as ever to flattery, it is, after all, in +virtue partly of a superior intelligence that poets are poets, +and in the long run their friendship is permanently given to <a +name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +281</span>straightforward men like Jowett. That +Jowett’s judgment in artistic matters, and especially in +poetry, was borné no one knew better than himself, and he +had a way of letting the poets see that upon poetical subjects he +must be taken as only a partially qualified judge, and this alone +gained for him a greater freedom in criticism than would +otherwise have been allowed to him. For, notwithstanding +the Oxford epigram upon him as a pretender to absolute wisdom, no +man could be more modest than he upon subjects of which he had +only the ordinary knowledge. He was fond of quoting +Hallam’s words that without an exhaustive knowledge of +details there can be no accurate induction; and where he saw that +his interlocutor really had special knowledge, he was singularly +diffident about expressing his opinion. They are not so far +wrong who take it for granted that one who was able to secure the +loving admiration of four of the greatest poets of the Victorian +epoch, all extremely unlike each other, was not only a great and +a rare intelligence, but a man of a nature most truly noble and +most truly lovable. The kind of restraint in social +intercourse resulting from what has been called his taciturnity +passed so soon as his interlocutor realized (which he very +quickly did) that Jowett’s taciturnity, or rather his lack +of volubility, arose from the peculiarly honest nature of one who +had no idea of talking for talking’s sake. If a +proper and right response to a friend’s remark chanced to +come to his lips spontaneously, he was quite willing to deliver +it; but if the response was neither spontaneous nor likely to be +adequate, he refused to manufacture one for the mere sake of +keeping the ball rolling, as is so often the case with the +shallow or uneducated man. It is, however, extremely +difficult to write reminiscences of men so taciturn as +Jowett. In <a name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +282</span>order to bring out one of Jowett’s pithy sayings, +the interlocutor who would record it has also to record the words +of his own which awoke the saying, and then it is almost +impossible to avoid an appearance of egotism.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Still more pleasurable than these relaxations at Oxford were +the visits that the two friends used to pay to Jowett’s +rural retreat at Boar’s Hill, about three miles from +Oxford, for the purpose of revelling in the riches of the +dramatic room in the Bodleian. The two poets used to spend +the entire day in that enchanted room, and then walk back with +the Master to Boar’s Hill. Every reader of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s poetry will remember the following +sonnets:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">THE LAST WALK FROM BOAR’S +HILL<br /> +To A. C. S.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">I</p> +<blockquote><p>One after one they go; and glade and heath,<br /> + Where once we walked with them, and garden bowers<br +/> + They made so dear, are haunted by the hours<br /> +Once musical of those who sleep beneath;<br /> +One after one does Sorrow’s every wreath<br /> + Bind closer you and me with funeral flowers,<br /> + And Love and Memory from each loss of ours<br /> +Forge conquering glaives to quell the conqueror Death.</p> +<p>Since Love and Memory now refuse to yield<br /> +The friend with whom we walk through mead and field<br /> + To-day as on that day when last we parted,<br /> +Can he be dead, indeed, whatever seem?<br /> +Love shapes a presence out of Memory’s dream,<br /> + A living presence, Jowett golden-hearted.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">II</p> +<p>Can he be dead? We walk through flowery ways<br /> + From Boar’s Hill down to Oxford, fain to +know<br /> + <a name="page283"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +283</span>What nugget-gold, in drift of Time’s long +flow,<br /> +The Bodleian mine hath stored from richer days;<br /> +He, fresh as on that morn, with sparkling gaze,<br /> + Hair bright as sunshine, white as moonlit snow,<br +/> + Still talks of Plato while the scene below<br /> +Breaks gleaming through the veil of sunlit haze.</p> +<p>Can he be dead? He shares our homeward walk,<br /> +And by the river you arrest the talk<br /> + To see the sun transfigure ere he sets<br /> +The boatmen’s children shining in the wherry<br /> + And on the floating bridge the ply-rope wets,<br /> +Making the clumsy craft an angel’s ferry.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">III</p> +<p>The river crossed, we walk ’neath glowing skies<br /> + Through grass where cattle feed or stand and +stare<br /> + With burnished coats, glassing the coloured +air—<br /> +Fading as colour after colour dies:<br /> +We pass the copse; we round the leafy rise—<br /> + Start many a coney and partridge, hern and hare;<br +/> + We win the scholar’s nest—his simple +fare<br /> +Made royal-rich by welcome in his eyes.</p> +<p>Can he be dead? His heart was drawn to you.<br /> +Ah! well that kindred heart within him knew<br /> + The poet’s heart of gold that gives the +spell!<br /> +Can he be dead? Your heart being drawn to him,<br /> +How shall ev’n Death make that dear presence dim<br /> + For you who loved him—us who loved him +well?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Another and much lovelier retreat, whither Mr. Watts-Dunton +has always loved to go, is the cottage at Box-hill. Not the +least interesting among the beautiful friendships between Mr. +Watts-Dunton and his illustrious contemporaries is that between +himself and Mr. George Meredith. Mr. William Sharp can +speak with authority on this subject, being himself the intimate +friend of Mr. Meredith, Mr. Swinburne, and Mr. +Watts-Dunton. <a name="page284"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 284</span>Speaking of Swinburne’s +championship, in the ‘Spectator,’ of Meredith’s +first book of poems, Mr. Sharp, in an article in the ‘Pall +Mall Magazine,’ of December 1901, says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Among those who read and considered” +[Meredith’s work] “was another young poet, who had, +indeed, already heard of Swinburne as one of the most promising +of the younger men, but had not yet met him. . . . If the +letter signed ‘A. C. Swinburne’ had not appeared, +another signed ‘Theodore Watts’ would have been +published, to the like effect. It was not long before the +logic of events was to bring George Meredith, A. C. Swinburne, +and Theodore Watts into personal communion.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The first important recognition of George Meredith as a poet +was the article by Mr. Watts-Dunton in the +‘Athenæum’ on ‘Poems and Lyrics of the +Joy of Earth.’ After this appeared articles +appreciative of Meredith’s prose fiction by W. E. Henley +and others. But it was Mr. Watts-Dunton who led the +way. The most touching of all the testimonies of love and +admiration which Mr. Meredith has received from Mr Watts-Dunton, +or indeed, from anybody else, is the beautiful sonnet addressed +to him on his seventy-fourth birthday. It appeared in the +‘Saturday Review’ of February 15, 1902:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">TO GEORGE MEREDITH<br +/> +<span class="GutSmall">(ON HIS SEVENTY-FOURTH +BIRTHDAY)</span></p> +<p>This time, dear friend—this time my birthday greeting<br +/> + Comes heavy of funeral tears—I think of +you,<br /> + And say, ‘’Tis evening with +him—that is true—<br /> +But evening bright as noon, if faster fleeting;<br /> +Still he is spared—while Spring and Winter, meeting,<br /> + Clasp hands around the roots ’neath frozen +dew—<br /> + To see the ‘Joy of Earth’ break forth +anew,<br /> +And hear it on the hillside warbling, bleating.’</p> +<p><a name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +285</span>Love’s remnant melts and melts; but, if our +days<br /> + Are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, still,<br +/> +Still Winter has a sun—a sun whose rays<br /> + Can set the young lamb dancing on the hill,<br /> +And set the daisy, in the woodland ways,<br /> + Dreaming of her who brings the daffodil.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The allusion to ‘funeral tears’ was caused by one +of the greatest bereavements which Mr. Watts-Dunton has sustained +in recent years, namely, that of Frank Groome, whose obituary he +wrote for the ‘Athenæum.’ I have not the +honour of knowing Meredith, but I have often heard Mr. +Watts-Dunton describe with a glow of affectionate admiration the +fine charm of his character and the amazing pregnancy in thought +and style of his conversation.</p> +<p>But the most memorable friendship that during their joint +occupancy of ‘The Pines’ Mr Watts-Dunton formed, was +that with Tennyson.</p> +<p>I have had many conversations with Mr. Watts-Dunton on the +subject of Tennyson, and I am persuaded that, owing to certain +incongruities between the external facets of Tennyson’s +character and the ‘abysmal deeps’ of his personality, +Mr. Watts-Dunton, after the poet’s son, is the only man +living who is fully competent to speak with authority of the +great poet. Not only is he himself a poet who must be +placed among his contemporaries nearest to his more illustrious +friend, but between Mr. Watts-Dunton and Tennyson from their +first meeting there was an especial sympathy. So long ago +as 1881 was published his sonnet to Tennyson on his seventy-first +birthday. It attracted much attention, and although it was +not sent to the Laureate, he read it and was much touched by it, +as well he might be, for it is as noble a tribute as one poet +could pay to another:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +286</span><span class="smcap">To Alfred Tennyson, on his +publishing, in his seventy-first year, the most richly various +volume of English verse that has appeared in his own +century</span>.</p> +<p>Beyond the peaks of Kaf a rivulet springs<br /> + Whose magic waters to a flood expand,<br /> + Distilling, for all drinkers on each hand,<br /> +The immortal sweets enveiled in mortal things.<br /> +From honeyed flowers,—from balm of zephyr-wings,—<br +/> + From fiery blood of gems, <a +name="citation286"></a><a href="#footnote286" +class="citation">[286]</a> through all the land,<br /> + The river draws;—then, in one rainbow-band,<br +/> +Ten leagues of nectar o’er the ocean flings.</p> +<p>Rich with the riches of a poet’s years,<br /> + Stained in all colours of Man’s destiny,<br /> +So, Tennyson, thy widening river nears<br /> + The misty main, and, taking now the sea,<br /> +Makes rich and warm with human smiles and tears<br /> + The ashen billows of Eternity.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Some two or three years after this Mr. Watts-Dunton met the +Laureate at a garden party, and they fraternized at once. +Mr. Watts-Dunton had an open invitation to Aldworth and +Farringford whenever he could go, and this invitation came after +his very first stay at Aldworth. One point in which he does +not agree with Coleridge (in the ‘Table Talk’) or +with Mr. Swinburne, is the theory that Tennyson’s ear was +defective at the very first. He contends that if Tennyson +in his earlier poems seemed to show a defective ear, it was +always when in the great struggle between the demands of mere +metrical music and those of the other great requisites of poetry, +thought, emotion, colour and outline, he found it best +occasionally to make metrical music in some measure yield. +As an illustration of Tennyson’s sensibility to the most <a +name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>delicate +nuances of metrical music, I remember at one of those charming +‘symposia’ at ‘The Pines,’ hearing Mr. +Watts-Dunton say that Tennyson was the only English poet who gave +the attention to the sibilant demanded by Dionysius of +Halicarnassus; and I remember one delightful instance that he +gave of this. It referred to the two sonnets upon +‘The Omnipotence of Love’ in the universe which I +have always considered to be the keynote of ‘Aylwin’ +and ‘The Coming of Love.’ These sonnets +appeared in an article called ‘The New Hero’ in the +‘English Illustrated Magazine’ in 1883. Mr. +Watts-Dunton was staying at Aldworth when the proof of the +article reached him. The present Lord Tennyson (who, as Mr. +Watts-Dunton has often averred, has so much literary insight that +if he had not been the son of the greatest poet of his time, he +would himself have taken a high position in literature) read out +in one of the little Aldworth bowers to his father and to Miss +Mary Boyle the article and the sonnets. Tennyson, who was a +severe critic of his own work, but extremely lenient in +criticising the work of other men, said there was one feature in +one of the lines of one of the sonnets which he must +challenge. The line was this:—</p> +<blockquote><p>And scents of flowers and shadow of wavering +trees.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now it so chanced that this very line had been especially +praised by two other fine critics, D. G. Rossetti and William +Morris, to whom the sonnet had been read in manuscript. +Tennyson’s criticism was that there were too many sibilants +in the line, and that although, other things being equal, +‘scents’ might be more accurate than +‘scent,’ this was a case where the claims of music +ought to be dominant over other claims. The present Lord +Tennyson took the same view, and I am sure they <a +name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 288</span>were right, +and that Mr. Watts-Dunton was right, in finally adopting +‘scent’ in place of ‘scents.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton has always contended that Tennyson’s +sensibility to criticism was the result, not of imperious +egotism, but of a kind of morbid modesty. Tennyson used to +say that “to whatsoever exalted position a poet might +reach, he was not ‘born to the purple,’ and that if +the poet’s mind was especially plastic he could never shake +off the reminiscence of the time when he was nobody.”</p> +<p>On a certain occasion Tennyson took Mr. Watts-Dunton into the +summer-house at Aldworth to read to him ‘Becket,’ +then in manuscript. Although another visitor, whom he +esteemed very highly, both as a poet and an old friend, was +staying there, Tennyson said that he should prefer to read the +play to Mr. Watts-Dunton alone. And this no doubt was +because he desired an absolute freedom of criticism. +Freedom of criticism we may be sure he got, for of all men Mr. +Watts-Dunton is the most outspoken on the subject of the +poet’s art. The entire morning was absorbed in the +reading; and, says Mr. Watts-Dunton, ‘the remarks upon +poetic and dramatic art that fell from Tennyson would have made +the fortune of any critic.’</p> +<p>On the subject of what has been called Tennyson’s +gaucherie and rudeness to women I have seen Mr. Watts-Dunton wax +very indignant. ‘There was to me,’ he said, +‘the greatest charm in what is called Tennyson’s +bluntness. I would there were a leaven of Tennyson’s +single-mindedness in the society of the present day.’</p> +<p>One anecdote concerning what is stigmatized as +Tennyson’s rudeness to women shows how entirely the man was +misunderstood. Mrs. Oliphant has stated that Tennyson, <a +name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 289</span>in his own +house, after listening in silence to an interchange of amiable +compliments between herself and Mrs. Tennyson, said abruptly, +‘What liars you women are!’ ‘I seem to +hear,’ said Mr. Watts-Dunton, ‘Tennyson utter the +exclamation—utter it in that tone of humourous playfulness, +followed by that loud guffaw, which neutralized the rudeness as +entirely as Douglas Jerrold’s laugh neutralized the sting +of his satire. For such an incident to be cited as instance +of Tennyson’s rudeness to women is ludicrous. When I +knew him I was, if possible, a more obscure literary man than I +now am, and he treated me with exactly the same manly respect +that he treated the most illustrious people. I did not feel +that I had any claim to such treatment, for he was, beyond doubt, +the greatest literary figure in the world of that time. +There seems unfortunately to be an impulse of detraction, which +springs up after a period of laudation.’</p> +<p>The only thing I have heard Mr. Watts-Dunton say in the way of +stricture upon Tennyson’s work was that, considering his +enormous powers as a poet, he seemed deficient in the gift of +inventing a story:—“The stanzas beginning, ‘O, +that ’twere possible’—the nucleus of +‘Maud’—appeared originally in ‘The +Tribute.’ They were the finest lines that Tennyson +ever wrote—right away the finest. They suggested some +superb story of passion and mystery; and every reader was +compelled to make his own guess as to what the story could +possibly be. In an evil moment some friend suggested that +Tennyson should amplify this glorious lyric into a story. A +person with more of the endowment of the inventor than Tennyson +might perhaps have invented an adequate story—might perhaps +have invented a dozen adequate stories; but he could not have +invented a worse story <a name="page290"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 290</span>than the one used by Tennyson in the +writing of his monodrama. But think of the poetic riches +poured into it!”</p> +<p>I remember a peculiarly subtle criticism that Mr. Watts-Dunton +once made in regard to ‘The Princess.’ +“Shakspeare,” he said, “is the only poet who +has been able to put sincere writing into a story the plot of +which is fanciful. The extremely insincere story of +‘The Princess’ is filled with such noble passages of +sincere poetry as ‘Tears, idle tears,’ ‘Home +they brought her warrior dead,’ etc., passages which +unfortunately lose two-thirds of their power through the +insincere setting.”</p> +<p>Not very long before Tennyson died, the editor of the +‘Magazine of Art’ invited Mr. Watts-Dunton to write +an article upon the portraits of Tennyson. Mr. Watts-Dunton +consulted the poet upon this project, and he agreed, promising to +aid in the selection of the portraits. The result was two +of the most interesting essays upon Tennyson that have ever been +written—in fact, it is no exaggeration to say that without +a knowledge of these articles no student of Tennyson can be +properly equipped. It is tantalizing that they have never +been reprinted. Tennyson died before their appearance, and +this, of course, added to the general interest felt in them.</p> +<p>After Tennyson’s death Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote two +penetrating essays upon Tennyson in the ‘Nineteenth +Century,’ one of them being his reminiscences of Tennyson +as the poet and the man, and the other a study of him as a +nature-poet in reference to evolution. It will be a great +pity if these essays too are not reprinted. Mr. Knowles, +the editor, also included Mr. Watts-Dunton among the friends of +Tennyson who were invited to write memorial verses on his death +for the <a name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +291</span>‘Nineteenth Century.’ To this series +Mr. Watts-Dunton contributed the following sonnet, which is one +of the several poems upon Tennyson not published in ‘The +Coming of Love’ volume, which, I may note in passing, +contains ‘What the Silent Voices Said,’ the fine +‘sonnet sequence’ commemorating the burial of +Tennyson:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">IN WESTMINSTER +ABBEY</p> +<p style="text-align: center">‘<span class="smcap">The +crowd in the abbey was very great</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Morning Newspaper.</p> +<p>I saw no crowd: yet did these eyes behold<br /> + What others saw not—his lov’d face +sublime<br /> + Beneath that pall of death in deathless prime<br /> +Of Tennyson’s long day that grows not old;<br /> +And, as I gazed, my grief seemed over-bold;<br /> + And, ‘Who art thou,’ the music seemed to +chime,<br /> + ‘To mourn that King of song whose throne +is Time?’<br /> +Who loves a god should be of godlike mould.</p> +<p>Then spake my heart, rebuking Sorrow’s shame:<br /> + ‘So great he was, striving in simple strife<br +/> + With Art alone to lend all beauty life—<br /> +So true to Truth he was, whatever came—<br /> + So fierce against the false when lies were +rife—<br /> +That love o’erleapt the golden fence of Fame.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>By the invitation of the present Lord Tennyson, Mr. +Watts-Dunton was one of the few friends of the poet, including +Jowett, F. W. H. Myers, F. T. Palgrave, the late Duke of Argyll, +and others, who contributed reminiscences of him to the +‘Life.’ In a few sentences he paints this +masterly little miniature of Tennyson, entitled, +‘Impressions: 1883–1892’ <a +name="citation291"></a><a href="#footnote291" +class="citation">[291]</a>:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“All are agreed that D. G. Rossetti’s +was a peculiarly winning personality, but no one has been in the +least able <a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +292</span>to say why. Nothing is easier, however, than to +find the charm of Tennyson. It lay in a great veracity of +soul: it lay in a simple single-mindedness, so childlike that, +unless you had known him to be the undoubted author of poems as +marvellous for exquisite art as for inspiration, you could not +have supposed but that all subtleties—even those of poetic +art—must be foreign to a nature so simple.</p> +<p>Working in a language like ours—a language which has to +be moulded into harmony by a myriad subtleties of art—how +can this great, inspired, simple nature be the delicate-fingered +artist of ‘The Princess,’ ‘The Palace of +Art,’ ‘The Day-Dream,’ and ‘The Dream of +Fair Women’?</p> +<p>Tennyson knew of but one justification for the thing he +said—viz. that it was the thing he thought. Behind +his uncompromising directness was apparent a noble and a splendid +courtesy of the grand old type. As he stood at the porch of +Aldworth meeting a guest or bidding him good-bye—as he +stood there, tall far beyond the height of average men, his skin +showing dark and tanned by the sun and wind—as he stood +there, no one could mistake him for anything but a great +forthright English gentleman. Always a man of an +extraordinary beauty of presence, he showed up to the last the +beauty of old age to a degree rarely seen. He was the most +hospitable of men. It was very rare indeed for him to part +from a guest without urging him to return, and generally with the +words, ‘Come whenever you like.’</p> +<p>Tennyson’s knowledge of nature—nature in every +aspect—was simply astonishing. His passion for +‘stargazing’ has often been commented upon by readers +of his poetry. Since Dante, no poet in any land has so +loved the stars. He had an equal delight in watching the <a +name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 293</span>lightning; +and I remember being at Aldworth once during a thunderstorm, when +I was alarmed at the temerity with which he persisted, in spite +of all remonstrances, in gazing at the blinding lightning. +For moonlight effects he had a passion equally strong, and it is +especially pathetic to those who know this to remember that he +passed away in the light he so much loved—in a room where +there was no artificial light—nothing to quicken the +darkness but the light of the full moon, which somehow seems to +shine more brightly at Aldworth than anywhere else in +England.</p> +<p>In a country having a composite language such as ours it may +be affirmed with special emphasis that there are two kinds of +poetry: one appealing to the uncultivated masses, the other +appealing to the few who are sensitive to the felicitous +expression of deep thought and to the true beauties of poetic +art.</p> +<p>Of all poets Shakespeare is the most popular, and yet in his +use of what Dante calls the ‘sieve for noble words’ +his skill transcends that of even Milton, Coleridge, Shelley, and +Keats. His felicities of thought and of diction in the +great passages seem little short of miraculous, and there are so +many that it is easy to understand why he is so often spoken of +as being a kind of inspired improvisatore. That he was not +an improvisatore, however, any one can see who will take the +trouble to compare the first edition of ‘Romeo and +Juliet’ with the received text, the first sketch of +‘The Merry Wives of Windsor’ with the play as we now +have it, and the ‘Hamlet’ of 1603 with the +‘Hamlet’ of 1604, and with the still further varied +version of the play given by Heminge and Condell in the Folio of +1623. Next to Shakespeare in this great power of combining +the forces of the two great classes of English poets, appealing +both <a name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 294</span>to +the commonplace public and to the artistic sense of the few, +stands, perhaps, Chaucer; but since Shakespeare’s time no +one has met with anything like Tennyson’s success in +effecting a reconciliation between popular and artistic sympathy +with poetry in England.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page295"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +295</span>Chapter XVIII<br /> +AMERICAN FRIENDS: LOWELL, BRET HARTE, AND OTHERS</h2> +<p>I feel that my hasty notes about Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +literary friendships would be incomplete without a word or two +upon his American friends. There is a great deal of +interest in the story of the first meeting between him and James +Russell Lowell. Shortly after Lowell had accepted the post +of American Minister in England, Mr. Watts-Dunton met him at +dinner. During the dinner Mr. Watts-Dunton was somewhat +attracted by the conversation of a gentleman who sat next to him +but one. He observed that the gentleman seemed to talk as +if he wished to entice him into the conversation. The +gentleman was passing severe strictures upon English +writers—Dickens, Thackeray, and others. As the dinner +wore on, his conversation left literary names and took up +political ones, and he was equally severe upon the prominent +political figures of the time, and also upon the prominent +political men of the previous generation—Palmerston, Lord +John Russell, and the like. Then the name of the Alabama +came up; the gentleman (whom Mr. Watts-Dunton now discovered to +be an American), dwelt with much emphasis upon the iniquity of +England in letting the Alabama escape. This diatribe he +concluded thus: ‘You know we owe England +nothing.’ In saying this he again looked at Mr. +Watts-Dunton, manifestly addressing his remarks to him.</p> +<p><a name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 296</span>These +attacks upon England and Englishmen and everything English had at +last irritated Mr. Watts-Dunton, and addressing the gentleman for +the first time, he said: “Pardon me, sir, but there you are +wrong. You owe England a very great deal, for I see you are +an American.”</p> +<p>“What do we owe England?” said the gentleman, whom +Mr. Watts-Dunton now began to realize was no other than the newly +appointed American Minister.</p> +<p>“You owe England,” he said, “for an infinity +of good feeling which you are trying to show is quite +unreciprocated by Americans. So kind is the feeling of +English people towards Americans that socially, so far as the +middle classes are concerned, they have an immense advantage over +English people themselves. They are petted and made much +of, until at last it has come to this, that the very fact of a +person’s being American is a letter of +introduction.”</p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton spoke with such emphasis, and his voice is so +penetrating, that those on the opposite side of the table began +to pause in their conversation to listen to it, and this stopped +the little duel between the two. After the ladies had +retired, Mr. Lowell drew up his chair to Mr. Watts-Dunton and +said:</p> +<p>“You were very sharp upon me just now, sir.”</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton. +“You were making an onslaught on my poor little island, and +you really seemed as though you were addressing your conversation +to me.”</p> +<p>“Well,” replied Mr. Lowell, “I will confess +that I did address my conversation partially to you; you are, I +think, Mr. Theodore Watts.”</p> +<p>“That is my little name,” said Mr. +Watts-Dunton. “But I really don’t see why that +should induce you to <a name="page297"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 297</span>address your conversation to +me. I suppose it is because absurd paragraphs have often +appeared in the American newspapers stating that I am strongly +anti-American in my sympathies. An entire mistake! I +have several charming American friends, and I am a great admirer +of many of your most eminent writers. But I notice that +whensoever an American book is severely handled in the +‘Athenæum,’ the article is attributed to +me.”</p> +<p>“I do not think,” said Mr. Lowell, “that you +are a lover of my country, but I am not one of those who +attribute to you articles that you never wrote.”</p> +<p>And he then drew his chair nearer to his interlocutor, and +became more confidential.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, “I will tell you something +that, I think, will not be altogether unpleasant to you. +When I came to take up my permanent residence in London a short +time ago, I was talking to a friend of mine about London and +Londoners, and I said to him: ‘There is one man whom I very +much want to meet.’ ‘You!’ said he, +‘why, you can meet anybody from the royal family +downwards. Who is the man you want to meet?’ +‘It is a man in the literary world,’ said I, +‘and I have no doubt you can introduce me to him. It +is the writer of the chief poetical criticism in the +“Athenæum.”’ My friend +laughed. ‘Well, it is curious,’ he replied: +‘that is one of the few men in the literary world I cannot +introduce you to. I scarcely know him, and, besides, not +long ago he passed strictures on my writing which I don’t +much approve of.’ Does that interest you?” +added Mr. Lowell.</p> +<p>“Very much,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton.</p> +<p>“Would it interest you to know that ever since your +first article in the ‘Athenæum’ I have read +every article you have written?”</p> +<p><a name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +298</span>“Very much,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton.</p> +<p>“Would it interest you to know that on reading your +first article I said to a friend of mine: ‘At last there is +a new voice in English criticism?’”</p> +<p>“Very much,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton. +“But you must first tell me what that article was, for I +don’t believe there is one of my countrymen who could do +so.”</p> +<p>“That article,” said Lowell, “was an essay +upon the ‘Comedy of the Noctes Ambrosianæ,’ and +it opened with an Oriental anecdote.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “that does +interest me very much.”</p> +<p>“And I will go further,” said Lowell: “every +line you have written in the ‘Athenæum’ has +been read by me, and often re-read.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “I confess to +being amazed, for I assure you that in my own country, except +within a narrow circle of friends, my name is absolutely +unknown. And I must add that I feel honoured, for it is not +a week since I told a friend that I have a great admiration for +some of your critical essays. But still, I don’t +quite forgive you for your onslaught upon my poor little +island! My sympathies are not strongly John Bullish, and +they tell me that my verses are more Celtic than Anglo-Saxon in +temper. But I am somewhat of a patriot, in my way, and I +don’t quite forgive you.”</p> +<p>The meeting ended in the two men fraternizing with each +other.</p> +<p>“Won’t you come to see me,” said Lowell, +“at the Embassy?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know where it is.”</p> +<p>“Then you ought to know!” said Lowell. +“Another proof of the stout sufficiency of the English +temper—<a name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +299</span>not to know where the American Embassy is! It is +in Lowndes Square.” Then he named the number.</p> +<p>“Why,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “that is next +door to Miss Swinburne, aunt of the poet, a perfectly marvellous +lady, possessing the vitality of the Swinburne family—a +lady who makes watercolour landscape drawings in the open air at +I don’t know what age of life—something like +eighty. She was a friend of Turner’s, and is the +possessor of some of Turner’s finest works.”</p> +<p>“So you actually go next door, and don’t know +where the American Embassy is! A crowning proof of the +insolent self-sufficiency of the English temper! However, +as you come next door, won’t you come and see +me?”</p> +<p>“I shall be delighted,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton; +“but I am perfectly sure you can spare no time to see an +obscure literary man.”</p> +<p>“On the contrary,” said Lowell, “I always +reserve to myself an hour, from five to six, when I see nobody +but a friend over a cigarette.”</p> +<p>Some time after this Mr. Watts-Dunton did call on Lowell, and +spent an hour with him over a cigarette; and at last it became an +institution, this hour over a cigarette once a week.</p> +<p>This went on for a long time, and Mr. Watts-Dunton is fond of +recalling the way in which Lowell’s Anglophobia became +milder and milder, ‘fine by degrees and beautifully +less,’ until at last it entirely vanished. Then it +was followed by something like Anglo-mania. Lowell began to +talk with the greatest appreciation of a thousand English +institutions and ways which he would formerly have +deprecated. The climax of this revolution was reached when +Mr. Watts-Dunton said to him:</p> +<p>“Lowell, you are now so much more of a John Bull <a +name="page300"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 300</span>than I am +that I have ceased to be able to follow you. The English +ladies are—let us say, charming; English gentlemen +are—let us say, charming, or at least some of them. +Everything is charming! But there is one thing you cannot +say a word for, and that is our detestable climate.”</p> +<p>“And you can really speak thus of the finest climate in +the world!” said Lowell. “I positively cannot +live out of it.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “you and I +will cease to talk about England and John Bull, if you +please. I cannot follow you.”</p> +<p>In relating this anecdote Mr. Watts-Dunton, however, insisted +that with all his love of England, Lowell never bated one jot of +his loyalty to his own country. There never was a stauncher +American than James Russell Lowell. Let one unjust word be +said about America, and he was a changed man. Mr. +Watts-Dunton has always contended that the present good feeling +between the two great branches of the Anglo-Saxon race was due +mainly to Lowell. Indeed, he expressed this conviction in +one of his finest sonnets. It appeared in the +‘Athenæum’ after Lowell’s death, and it +has been frequently reprinted in the United States. It now +appears in ‘The Coming of Love.’ It was +addressed ‘To Britain and America: On the Death of James +Russell Lowell,’</p> +<blockquote><p>Ye twain who long forgot your brotherhood<br /> + And those far fountains whence, through glorious +years,<br /> + Your fathers drew, for Freedom’s pioneers,<br +/> +Your English speech, your dower of English blood—<br /> +Ye ask to-day, in sorrow’s holiest mood,<br /> + When all save love seems film—ye ask in +tears—<br /> + ‘How shall we honour him whose name +endears<br /> +The footprints where beloved Lowell stood?’</p> +<p><a name="page301"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 301</span>Your +hands he joined—those fratricidal hands,<br /> + Once trembling, each, to seize a brother’s +throat:<br /> +How shall ye honour him whose spirit stands<br /> + Between you still?—Keep Love’s bright +sails afloat<br /> + For Lowell’s sake, where once ye strove and +smote<br /> +On waves that must unite, not part, your strands.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This perhaps is the place to say a word about Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s feelings towards America, which were once +supposed to be hostile. Apart from his intimacy with +Lowell, he numbered among his American friends Clarence Stedman, +Mrs. Moulton (between whom and himself there has been the most +cordial intimacy during twenty-five years), Bret Harte, Edwin +Abbey, Joaquin Miller, Colonel Higginson, and, indeed, many +prominent Americans. Between Whistler and himself there was +an intimacy so close that during several years they saw each +other nearly every day. That was before Whistler’s +genius had received full recognition. I may recall that +during a certain controversy concerning Whistler’s +animosity against the Royal Academy the following letter from Mr. +Watts-Dunton appeared in the ‘Times’ of August 12, +1903:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“In the ‘Times’ of to-day Mr. G. +D. Leslie, R.A., says: ‘I was on friendly terms with +Whistler for nearly forty years, and I never heard him at any +time testify animosity against the Academy or its +members.’</p> +<p>My own acquaintance with Whistler did not extend over forty +years, but for about ten years I was very intimate with him, so +intimate that during part of this period we met almost every +day. Indeed, at one time we were jointly engaged on a +weekly periodical called ‘Piccadilly,’ for which Du +Maurier designed the cover, and for which Whistler furnished his +very first lithographs, <a name="page302"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 302</span>by the valuable aid of Mr. T. +Way. During that time there were not many days when he +failed to ‘testify animosity’ against the Academy and +its members. To say the truth, the testifications on this +subject by ‘Jimmy,’ as he was then called, were a +little afflictive to his friends. Whether he was right or +wrong in the matter is a point on which I feel unqualified to +express an opinion.</p> +<p>May I be allowed to conclude this note by expressing my +admiration of your New York Correspondent’s amazingly vivid +portrait of one of the most vivid personalities of our +time? It is a masterpiece. . . . ”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When Bret Harte died, in May 1902, one of the best and most +appreciative estimates of him was written by Mr. Watts-Dunton for +the ‘Athenæum.’ I am tempted to quote it +nearly in full, as it shows deep sympathy with American +literature, and it will prove more conclusively than any words of +mine how warm are Mr. Watts-Dunton’s feelings towards +Americans:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“As a personality Bret Harte seems to have +exercised a great charm over his intimate friends, and I am not +in the least surprised at his being a favourite. It is many +years since I last saw him. I think it must have been at a +club dinner given by William Black; but I have a very vivid +remembrance of my first meeting him, which must have been more +than twenty-six years ago, and on that occasion it occurred to me +that he had great latent histrionic gifts, and, like Charles +Dickens, might have been an admirable actor. On that +account the following incident is worth recording. A friend +of mine, an American poet, who at that time was living in London, +brought him to my chambers, and did me the honour of introducing +me to him. Bret Harte had read something <a +name="page303"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 303</span>about the +London music-halls, and proposed that we should all three take a +drive round the town and see something of them. At that +time these places took a very different position in public +estimation from what they appear to be doing now. People +then considered them to be very cockney, very vulgar, and very +inane, as, indeed, they were, and were shy about going to +them. I hope they have improved now, for they seem to have +become quite fashionable. Our first visit was to the +Holborn Music Hall, and there we heard one or two songs that gave +the audience immense delight—some comic, some more comic +from being sentimental-maudlin. And we saw one or two +shapeless women in tights. Then we went to the +‘Oxford,’ and saw something on exactly the same +lines. In fact, the performers seemed to be the same as +those we had just been seeing. Then we went to other places +of the same kind, and Bret Harte agreed with me as to the +distressing emptiness of what my fellow-countrymen and women +seemed to be finding so amusing. At that time, indeed, the +almost only interesting entertainment outside the opera and the +theatres was that at Evans’s supper-rooms, where, under the +auspices of the famous Paddy Green, one could enjoy a Welsh +rarebit while listening to the ‘Chough and Crow’ and +‘The Men of Harlech,’ given admirably by +choir-boys. Years passed before I saw Bret Harte +again. I met him at a little breakfast party, and he amused +those who sat near him by giving an account of what he had seen +at the music-halls—an account so graphic that I think a +fine actor was lost in him. He not only vivified every +incident, but gave verbal descriptions of every performer in a +peculiarly quiet way that added immensely to the humour of +it. His style of acting would have been that of Jefferson +of ‘Rip Van Winkle’ <a name="page304"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 304</span>fame. This proved to me what a +genius he had for accurate observation, and also what a +remarkable memory for the details of a scene. His death has +touched English people very deeply.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>It is easy to be unjust to Bret Harte—easy to say that +he was a disciple of Dickens—easy to say that in richness, +massiveness, and variety he fell far short of his great and +beloved master. No one was so ready to say all this and +more about Bret Harte as Bret Harte himself. For of all the +writers of his time he was perhaps the most modest, the most +unobtrusive, the most anxious to give honour where he believed +honour to be due.</p> +<p>But the comparison between the English and American +story-tellers must not be pushed too far to the disadvantage of +the latter. If Dickens showed great superiority to Bret +Harte on one side of the imaginative writer’s equipment, +there were, I must think, other sides of that equipment on which +the superiority was Bret Harte’s.</p> +<p>Therefore I am not one of those who think that in a court of +universal criticism Bret Harte’s reputation will be found +to be of the usual ephemeral kind. It is, of course, +impossible to speak on such matters with anything like +confidence. But it does seem to me that Bret Harte’s +reputation is more likely than is generally supposed to ripen +into what we call fame. For in his short stories—in +the best of them, at least—there is a certain note quite +indescribable by any adjective—a note which is, I believe, +always to be felt in the literature that survives. The +charge of not being original is far too frequently brought +against the imaginative writers of America. What do we mean +by ‘originality’? Scott did not invent the +historic method. Dickens simply carried the method of +Smollett further, and with wider range. <a +name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>Thackeray +is admittedly the nineteenth century Fielding. Perhaps, +indeed, there is but one absolutely original writer of prose +fiction of the nineteenth century—Nathaniel +Hawthorne. By original I mean simply original. I do +not mean that he was the greatest imaginative writer of his +epoch. But he invented a new kind of fiction altogether, a +fiction in which the material world and the spiritual world were +not merely brought into touch, but were positively intermingled +one with the other.</p> +<p>Bret Harte had the great good fortune to light upon material +for literary treatment of a peculiarly fresh and a peculiarly +fascinating kind, and he had the artistic instinct to treat it +adequately. This is what I mean: in the wonderful history +of the nineteenth century there are no more picturesque figures +than those goldseekers—those ‘Argonauts’ of the +Pacific slope—who in 1848 and 1849 showed the world what +grit lies latent in the racial amalgam we agree to call +‘the Anglo-Saxon race.’ The Australian +gold-diggers of 1851 who followed them, although they were +picturesque and sturdy too, were not exactly of the strain of the +original Argonauts. The romance of the thing had been in +some degree worn away. The land of the Golden Fleece had +degenerated into a Tom Tiddler’s Ground. Moreover, +the Tom Tiddler’s Grounds of Ballarat and Bendigo were at a +comparatively easy distance from the Antipodean centre of +civilization. ‘Canvas Town’ could easily be +reached from Sydney. But to reach the Golden Fleece sought +by the original Californian Argonauts the adventurer had before +him a journey of an almost unparalleled kind. Every +Argonaut, indeed, was a kind of explorer as well as seeker of +gold. He must either trek overland—that is to say, +over those vast prairies and then over those vast mountain <a +name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 306</span>chains +which to men of the time of Fenimore Cooper and Dr. Bird made up +the limitless ‘far West’ regions which only a few +pioneers had dared to cross—or else he must take a journey, +equally perilous, round Cape Horn in the first crazy vessel in +which he could get a passage. It follows that for an +adventurer to succeed in reaching the land of the Golden Fleece +at all implied in itself that grit which adventurers of the +Anglo-Saxon type are generally supposed to show in a special +degree. What kind of men these Argonauts were, and what +kind of life they led, the people of the Eastern states of +America and the people of England had for years been trying to +gather from newspaper reports and other sources; but had it not +been for the genius of Bret Harte this most picturesque chapter +of nineteenth-century history would have been obliterated and +forgotten. Thanks to the admirable American writer whom +England had the honour and privilege of entertaining for so many +years, those wonderful regions and those wonderful doings in the +Sierra Nevada are as familiar to us as is Dickens’s +London. Surely those who talk of Bret Harte as being +‘Dickens among the Californian pines’ do not consider +what their words imply. It is true, no doubt, that there +was a kind of kinship between the temperament of Dickens and the +temperament of Bret Harte. They both held the same +principles of imaginative art, they both felt that the function +of the artist is to aid in the emancipation of man by holding +before him beautiful ideals; both felt that to give him any kind +of so-called realism which lowers man in his +aspirations—which calls before man’s imagination +degrading pictures of his ‘animal origin’—is to +do him a disservice. For man has still a long journey +before he reaches the goal. Yet though they were both by +instinct idealists as regards character-drawing, they both <a +name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 307</span>sought to +give their ideals a local habitation and a name by surrounding +those ideals with vividly painted real accessories, as real as +those of the ugliest realist.</p> +<p>With regard to Bret Harte’s Argonauts and the romantic +scenery in which they lived and worked, it would, no doubt, be a +bold thing to say whether Dickens could or could not have painted +them, and whether, if he had painted them, the pictures would or +would not have been as good as Bret Harte’s pictures. +But Dickens never did paint these Argonauts; he never had the +chance of painting them. Bret Harte did paint them, and +succeeded as wonderfully as Dickens succeeded in painting certain +classes of London life. Now, assuredly, I should have never +dreamt of instituting a comparison of this kind between two of +the most delightful writers and the most delightful men that have +lived in my time had not critics been doing so to the +disparagement of one of them. But if one of these writers +must be set up against another, I feel that something should be +said upon the other side of the question—I feel that +something should be said on those points where the American had +the advantage. Take the question of atmosphere, for +instance. Let us not forget how enormously important is +atmosphere in any imaginative picture of life. Without +going so far as to say that atmosphere is as important, or nearly +as important, as character, let me ask, What was it that captured +the readers of ‘Robinson Crusoe’? Was it the +character of Defoe’s hero, or was it the scenery and the +atmosphere in which he placed him? Again, see what an +important part scenery and atmosphere played in ‘The Lay of +the Last Minstrel,’ in ‘The Lady of the Lake,’ +in ‘Marmion,’ and in ‘Waverley.’ +And surely it was the atmosphere of Byron’s +‘Giaour,’ ‘The Bride of Abydos,’ and +‘The Corsair,’ that mainly gave <a +name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 308</span>these poems +their vogue. And, in a certain sense, it may be said that +Dickens gave to his readers a new atmosphere, for he was the +first to explore what was something new to the reading +world—the great surging low-life of London and the life of +the lower stratum of its middle class. It seems that the +pure novelist of manners only can dispense with a new and +picturesque atmosphere. It was natural for England to look +to American writers to enrich English literature with a new +imaginative atmosphere, and she did not look in vain. But, +notwithstanding all that had been done by writers like Brockden +Brown, Fenimore Cooper, Dr. Bird, and others to bring American +atmosphere into literature, Bret Harte gave us an atmosphere that +was American and yet as new as though the above-mentioned writers +had never written. He had the advantage of depicting a +scenery that was as unlike the backwoods of his predecessors as +it was unlike everything else in the world. It is doubtful +whether there is any scenery in the world so fascinating as the +mountain ranges of the Pacific side of the United States and +Canada.</p> +<p>Every one is born with an instinct for loving some particular +kind of scenery, and this bias has not so much to do with the +birth-environment as is generally supposed. It would have +been of no avail for Bret Harte to be familiar with the mighty +canons, peaks, and cataracts of the Nevada regions unless he had +had a natural genius for loving and depicting them; and this, +undoubtedly, he had, as we see by the effect upon us of his +descriptions. Once read, his pictures are never +forgotten. But it was not merely that the scenery and +atmosphere of Bret Harte’s stories are new—the point +is that the social mechanism in which his characters move is also +new. And if it cannot be denied that in temperament his +characters are allied to the characters of Dickens, we <a +name="page309"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 309</span>must not +make too much of this. Notwithstanding all the freshness +and newness of Dickens’s characters they were entirely the +slaves of English sanctions. Those incongruities which gave +them their humourous side arose from their contradicting the +English social sanctions around them. But in Bret +Harte’s Argonauts we get characters that move entirely +outside those sanctions of civilization with which the reader is +familiar. And this is why the violent contrasts in his +stories seem, somehow, to be better authenticated than do the +equally violent contrasts in Dickens’s stories. Bret +Harte’s characters are amenable to no laws except the +improvised laws of the camp; and the final arbiter is either the +six-shooter or the rope of Judge Lynch. And yet underlying +this apparent lawlessness there is that deep +‘law-abidingness’ which the late Grant Allen despised +as being ‘the Anglo-Saxon characteristic.’ To +my mind, indeed, there is nothing so new, fresh, and piquant in +the fiction of my time as Bret Harte’s pictures of the +mixed race we call Anglo-Saxon finding itself right outside all +the old sanctions, exercising nevertheless its own peculiar +instinct for law-abidingness of a kind.</p> +<p>We get the Anglo-Saxon beginning life anew far removed from +the old sanctions of civilization, retaining of necessity a good +deal of that natural liberty which, according to Blackstone, was +surrendered by the first human compact in order to secure its +substitute, civil liberty. We get vivid pictures of the +racial qualities which enable the Anglo-Saxon to plant his roots +and flourish in almost every square mile of the New World that +lies in the temperate zone. Let a group of this great race +of universal squatters be the dwellers in Roaring Camp, or a +party of whalers in New Zealand when it is a ‘no +man’s land,’ or even a gang of mutineers from <a +name="page310"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 310</span>the Bounty, +it is all one as regards their methods as squatters. The +moment that the mutineers set foot on Pitcairn Island they +improvise a code of laws something like the camp laws of Bret +Harte’s Argonauts, and the code on the whole works +well.</p> +<p>Therefore I think that, apart altogether from the literary +excellence of the presentation, Bret Harte’s pictures of +the Anglo-Saxon in these conditions will, even as documents, pass +into literature. And again, year by year, as nature is +being more and more studied, are what I may call the open-air +qualities of literature being more sought after. This +accounts in a large measure for the growing interest in a writer +once strangely neglected, George Borrow; and if there should be +any diminution in the great and deserved vogue of Dickens, it +will be because he is not strong in open-air qualities.</p> +<p>Bret Harte’s stories give the reader a sense of the open +air second only to Borrow’s own pictures. And if I am +right in thinking that the love of nature and the love of +open-air life are growing, this also will secure a place in the +future for Bret Harte.</p> +<p>And now what about his power of creating new +characters—not characters of the soil merely, but dramatic +characters? Well, here one cannot speak with quite so much +confidence on behalf of Bret Harte; and here he showed his great +inferiority to Dickens. Dickens, of course, used a larger +canvas—gave himself more room to depict his subjects.</p> +<p>If Bret Harte’s scenes and characters seem somewhat +artificial, may it not be often accounted for by the fact that he +wrote short stories and not long novels? For it is very +difficult in a short story to secure the freedom and flexibility +of movement which belong to nature—the last perfection of +imaginative art.</p> +<p><a name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 311</span>All +artistic imitations of nature, of course, consist of +selection. In actual life we form our own picture of a +character not by having the traits selected for us and presented +to us in a salient way, as in art, but by selecting in a +semi-conscious way for ourselves from the great mass of +characteristics presented to us by nature. The shorter the +story, the more economic must be its methods, and hence the more +rigid must its selection of characteristics be; and this, of +course, is apt to give an air of artificiality to a short story +from which a long novel may be free.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page312"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +312</span>Chapter XIX<br /> +WALES</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p312b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Ogwen and the Glyders from Carnedd Dafydd" +title= +"Ogwen and the Glyders from Carnedd Dafydd" +src="images/p312s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is impossible within the space +at my command to follow Mr. Watts-Dunton into Wales, or through +those Continental journeys described by Dr. Hake in ‘The +New Day.’ I can best show the impression that Alpine +scenery made upon him by quoting further on the end of ‘The +Coming of Love.’ But with regard to Wales, it seems +necessary that a word or two should be said, for it is a fact +that the Welsh nation has accepted ‘Aylwin’ as the +representative Welsh novel. And this is not surprising, +because, as many Welsh writers have averred, Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s passionate sympathy for Wales is as sincere +as though he had been born upon her soil. The +‘Arvon’ edition is thus dedicated:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“To Ernest Rhys, poet and romancist, and my +very dear friend, this edition of ‘Aylwin’ is +affectionately inscribed.</p> +<p>It was as far back as those summer days when you used to read +the proofs of ‘Aylwin’—used to read them in the +beautiful land the story endeavours to depict—that the wish +came to me to inscribe it to you, whose paraphrases of ‘The +Lament of Llywarch Hën,’ ‘The Lament of +Urien,’ and ‘The Song of the Graves’ have so +entirely caught the old music of Kymric romance.</p> +<p>When I described my Welsh heroine as showing that ‘love +of the wind’ which is such a fascinating characteristic <a +name="page313"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 313</span>of the +Snowdonian girls I had only to recall that poetic triumph, your +paraphrase of Taliesin’s ‘Song of the +Wind’—</p> +<p>Oh, most beautiful One!<br /> +In the wood and in the mead,<br /> +How he fares in his speed!<br /> +And over the land,<br /> +Without foot, without hand,<br /> +Without fear of old age,<br /> +Or Destiny’s rage.</p> +<p> * * *</p> +<p>His banner he flings<br /> +O’er the earth as he springs<br /> +On his way, but unseen<br /> +Are its folds; and his mien,<br /> +Rough or fair, is not shown,<br /> +And his face is unknown.</p> +<p>Had I anticipated that ‘Aylwin’ would achieve a +great success among the very people for whom I wrote it, I should +without hesitation have asked you to accept the dedication at +that time. But I felt that it would seem like endeavouring +to take a worldly advantage of your friendship to ask your +permission to do this—to ask you to stand literary sponsor, +as it were, to a story depicting Wales and the great Kymric race +with which the name of Rhys is so memorably and so grandly +associated. For although my heart had the true +‘Kymric beat’—if love of Wales may be taken as +an indication of that ‘beat’—the privilege of +having been born on the sacred soil of the Druids could not be +claimed by me, and I feared that in the vital presentation of +that organic detail, which is the first requisite in all true +imaginative art, I might in some degree be found wanting. +You yourself always prophesied, I remember, that +‘Aylwin’ <a name="page314"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 314</span>would win the hearts of your +countrymen and countrywomen; but I knew your generous nature; I +knew also if I may say it, your affection for me. How could +I then help feeling that the kind wish was father to the kind +thought?</p> +<p>But now that your prophecies have come true, now that there +is, if I am to accept the words of another Welsh writer, +‘scarcely any home in Wales where a well-thumbed copy of +“Aylwin” is not to be found,’ and now that +thousands of Welsh women and Welsh girls have read, and, as I +know by letters from strangers, have smiled and wept over the +story of their countrywoman, Winifred Wynne, I feel that the time +has come when I may look for the pleasure of associating your +name with the book.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p314b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Moel Siabod and the River Lledr" +title= +"Moel Siabod and the River Lledr" +src="images/p314s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<blockquote><p>Sometimes I have been asked whether Winifred Wynne +is not an idealised Welsh girl; but never by you, who know the +characteristics of the race to which you belong—know it far +too well to dream of asking that question. There are not +many people, I think, who know the Kymric race so intimately as I +do; and I have said on a previous occasion what I fully meant and +mean, that, although I have seen a good deal of the races of +Europe, I put the Kymric race in many ways at the top of them +all. They combine, as I think, the poetry, the music, the +instinctive love of the fine arts, and the humour of the other +Celtic peoples with the practicalness and bright-eyed sagacity of +the very different race to which they are so closely linked by +circumstance—the race whom it is the fashion to call the +Anglo-Saxon. And as to the charm of the Welsh girls, no one +who knows them as you and I do can fail to be struck by it +continually. Winifred Wynne I meant to be the typical Welsh +girl as I have found her—affectionate, warm-hearted, <a +name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +315</span>self-sacrificing, and brave. And I only wish that +my power to do justice to her and to the country that gave her +birth had been more adequate. There are, however, writers +now among you whose pictures of Welsh scenery and Welsh life can +hold their own with almost anything in contemporary fiction; and +to them I look for better work than mine in the same rich +field. Although I am familiar with the Alps and the other +mountain ranges of Europe, in their wildest and most beautiful +recesses, no hill scenery has for me the peculiar witchery of +that around Eryri. And what race in Europe has a history so +poetic, so romantic, and so pathetic as yours? That such a +country, so beautiful in every aspect, and surrounded by such an +atmosphere of poetry, will soon give birth to its Walter Scott is +with me a matter of fervid faith.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As to the descriptions of North Wales in ‘Aylwin,’ +they are now almost classic; especially the descriptions of the +Swallow Falls and the Fairy Glen. Long before +‘Aylwin’ was published, Welsh readers had been +delighted with the ‘Athenæum’ article +containing the description of Mr. Watts-Dunton and Sinfi Lovell +walking up the Capel Curig side of Snowdon at break of day.</p> +<p>Fine as is that description of a morning on Snowdon, it is not +finer than the description of a Snowdon sunset, which forms the +nobly symbolic conclusion of ‘Aylwin’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“We were now at the famous spot where the +triple echo is best heard, and we began to shout like two +children in the direction of Llyn Ddu’r Arddu. And +then our talk naturally fell on Knockers’ Llyn and the +echoes <a name="page316"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +316</span>to be heard there. She then took me to another +famous sight on this side of Snowdon, the enormous stone, said to +be five thousand tons in weight, called the Knockers’ +Anvil. While we lingered here Winnie gave me as +many-anecdotes and legends of this stone as would fill a little +volume. But suddenly she stopped.</p> +<p>‘Look!’ she said, pointing to the sunset. +‘I have seen that sight only once before. I was with +Sinfi. She called it “The Dukkeripen of the +Trúshul.”’</p> +<p>The sun was now on the point of sinking, and his radiance, +falling on the cloud-pageantry of the zenith, fired the flakes +and vapoury films floating and trailing above, turning them at +first into a ruby-coloured mass, and then into an ocean of rosy +fire. A horizontal bar of cloud which, until the radiance +of the sunset fell upon it, had been dull and dark and grey, as +though a long slip from the slate quarries had been laid across +the west, became for a moment a deep lavender colour, and then +purple, and then red-gold. But what Winnie was pointing at +was a dazzling shaft of quivering fire where the sun had now sunk +behind the horizon. Shooting up from the cliffs where the +sun had disappeared, this shaft intersected the bar of clouds and +seemed to make an irregular cross of deep rose.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is no wonder, therefore, that the path Henry Aylwin and +Sinfi Lovell took on the morning when the search for Winifred +began was a source of speculation, notably in ‘Notes and +Queries.’ Mr. Watts-Dunton deals with this point in +the preface to the twenty-second edition:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Nothing,” he says, “in regard +to ‘Aylwin’ has given me so much pleasure as the way +in which it has been received <a name="page317"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 317</span>both by my Welsh friends and my +Romany friends. I little thought, when I wrote it, that +within three years of its publication the gypsy pictures in it +would be discoursed upon to audiences of 4,000 people by a man so +well equipped to express an opinion on such a subject as the +eloquent and famous ‘Gypsy Smith,’ and described by +him as ‘the most trustworthy picture of Romany life in the +English language, containing in Sinfi Lovell the truest +representative of the Gypsy girl.’</p> +<p>Since the first appearance of the book there have been many +interesting discussions by Welsh readers, in various periodicals, +upon the path taken by Sinfi Lovell and Aylwin in their ascent of +Snowdon.</p> +<p>A very picturesque letter appeared in ‘Notes and +Queries’ on May 3, 1902, signed C. C. B., in answer to a +query by E. W., which I will give myself the pleasure of quoting +because it describes the writer’s ascent of Snowdon +(accompanied by a son of my old friend, Harry Owen, late of +Pen-y-Gwryd) along a path which was almost the same as that taken +by Aylmin and Sinfi Lovell, when he saw the same magnificent +spectacle that was seen by them:—</p> +<p>‘The mist was then clearing (it was in July) and in a +few moments was entirely gone. So marvellous a +transformation scene, and so immense a prospect, I have never +beheld since. For the first and only time in my life I saw +from one spot almost the whole of North and Mid-Wales, a good +part of Western England, and a glimpse of Scotland and +Ireland. The vision faded all too quickly, but it was worth +walking thirty-three or thirty-four miles, as I did that day, for +even a briefer view than that.’</p> +<p>Referring to Llyn Coblynau, this interesting writer +says:—</p> +<p>‘Only from Glaslyn would the description in +“Aylwin” <a name="page318"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 318</span>of y Wyddfa standing out against the +sky “as narrow and as steep as the sides of an acorn” +be correct, but from the north and north-west sides of Glaslyn +this answers with quite curious exactness to the appearance of +the mountain. We must suppose the action of the story to +have taken place before the revival of the copper-mining industry +on Snowdon.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p318b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Snowdon and Glaslyn" +title= +"Snowdon and Glaslyn" +src="images/p318s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<blockquote><p>With regard, however, to the question here raised, +I can save myself all trouble by simply quoting the admirable +remarks of Sion o Ddyli in the same number of ‘Notes and +Queries’:—</p> +<p>‘None of us are very likely to succeed in +“placing” this llyn, because the author of +“Aylwin,” taking a privilege of romance often taken +by Sir Walter Scott before him, probably changed the landmarks in +idealising the scene and adapting it to his story. It may +be, indeed, that the Welsh name given to the llyn in the book is +merely a rough translation of the gipsies’ name for it, the +“Knockers” being gnomes or goblins of the mine; hence +“Coblynau”—goblins. If so, the name +itself can give us no clue unless we are lucky enough to secure +the last of the Welsh gipsies for a guide. In any case, the +only point from which to explore Snowdon for the small llyn, or +perhaps llyns (of which Llyn Coblynau is a kind of composite +ideal picture), is no doubt, as E. W. has suggested, Capel Curig; +and I imagine the actual scene lies about a mile south from +Glaslyn, while it owes something at least of its colouring in the +book to that strange lake. The “Knockers,” it +must be remembered, usually depend upon the existence of a mine +near by, with old partly fallen mine-workings where the dropping +of water or other subterranean noises produce the curious +phenomenon which is turned to such imaginative account in the +Snowdon chapters of “Aylwin.”’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page319"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 319</span>In +‘Aylwin’ Mr. Watts-Dunton is fond of giving his +readers little pictorial glimpses of Welsh life:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The peasants and farmers all knew me. +‘Sut mae dy galon? (How is thy heart?)’ they would +say in the beautiful Welsh phrase as I met them. ‘How +is my heart, indeed!’ I would sigh as I went on my +way.</p> +<p>Before I went to Wales in search of Winifred I had never set +foot in the Principality. Before I left it there was +scarcely a Welshman who knew more familiarly than I every mile of +the Snowdonian country. Never a trace of Winifred could I +find.</p> +<p>At the end of the autumn I left the cottage and removed to +Pen-y-Gwryd, as a comparatively easy point from which I could +reach the mountain llyn where I had breakfasted with Winifred on +that morning.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>His intense affection for Welsh characteristics is seen in the +following description of the little Welsh girl and her +fascinating lisp:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Would you like to come in our +garden? It’s such a nice garden.’</p> +<p>I could resist her no longer. That voice would have +drawn me had she spoken in the language of the Toltecs or the +lost Zamzummin. To describe it would of course be +impossible. The novelty of her accent, the way in which she +gave the ‘h’ in ‘which,’ +‘what,’ and ‘when,’ the Welsh rhythm of +her intonation, were as bewitching to me as the timbre of her +voice. And let me say here, once for all, that when I sat +down to write this narrative, I determined to give the English +reader some idea of the way in which, whenever her emotions were +deeply touched, her talk would run into soft Welsh <a +name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +320</span>diminutives; but I soon abandoned the attempt in +despair. I found that to use colloquial Welsh with effect +in an English context is impossible without wearying English +readers and disappointing Welsh ones.</p> +<p>Here, indeed, is one of the great disadvantages under which +this book will go out to the world. While a story-teller +may reproduce, by means of orthographical devices, something of +the effect of Scottish accent, Irish accent, or Manx accent, such +devices are powerless to represent Welsh accent.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page321"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +321</span>Chapter XX<br /> +IMAGINATIVE AND DIDACTIC PROSE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">But</span> the interesting subjects +touched upon in the last four chapters have led me far from the +subject of ‘The Renascence of Wonder.’ In its +biographical sketch of Mr. Watts-Dunton the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ says: +“Imaginative glamour and mysticism are prominent +characteristics both of ‘The Coming of Love’ and +‘Aylwin,’ and the novel in particular has had its +share in restoring the charms of pure romance to the favour of +the general public.” This is high praise, but I hope +to show that it is deserved. When it was announced that a +work of prose fiction was about to be published by the critic of +the ‘Athenæum,’ what did Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s readers expect? I think they expected +something as unlike what the story turned out to be as it is +possible to imagine. They expected a story built up of a +discursive sequence of new and profound generalizations upon life +and literature expressed in brilliant picturesque prose such as +had been the delight of my boyhood in Ireland; they expected to +be fascinated more than ever by that ‘easy authoritative +greatness and comprehensiveness of style’ with which they +had been familiar for long; they expected also that subtle irony +after the fashion of Fielding, which suggests so much between the +lines, that humour which had been an especial joy to me in <a +name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 322</span>scores of +articles signed by the writer’s style as indubitably as if +they had been signed by his name. I think everybody +cherished this expectation: everybody took it for granted that +heaps of those ‘intellectual nuggets’ about which +Minto talked would smother the writer as a story-teller, that the +book as literature would be admirable—but as a novel a +failure. Great as was Mr. Watts-Dunton’s esoteric +reputation, I believe that many of the booksellers declined (as +the author had prophesied that they would decline) to subscribe +for the book. They expected it to fail as a marketable +novel—to fail in that ‘artistic convincement’ +of which Mr. Watts-Dunton has himself so often written. +What neither I nor any one else save those who, like Mr. +Swinburne, had read the story in manuscript, did expect, was a +story so poetic, so unworldly, and so romantic that it might have +been written by a young Celt—a love story of intense +passion, which yet by some magic art was as convincingly +realistic as any one of those ‘flat-footed’ +sermon-stories which the late W. E. Henley was wont to +deride.</p> +<p>In fact, from this point of view ‘Aylwin’ is a +curiosity of literature. The truth seems to be, however, +that, as one of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s most intimate friends +has said, its style represents one facet only of +Watts-Dunton’s character. Like most of us, he has a +dual existence—one half of him is the romantic youth, Henry +Aylwin, the other half is the world-wise philosopher of the +‘Athenæum.’ This other half of him lives +in the style of another story altogether, where the creator of +Henry Aylwin takes up the very different role of a man of the +world. Now I have views of my own upon this duality. +I think that if the brilliant worldly writing of the mass of his +work be examined, it will be found to be a ‘shot’ +texture scintillating with various hues <a +name="page323"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 323</span>where +sometimes repressed passion and sometimes mysticism and dreams +are constantly shining through the glossy silk of the +style. Sometimes from the smooth, even flow of the +criticisms gleams of a passion far more intense than anything in +‘Aylwin’ will flash out. I will cite a passage +in his critical writings wherein he discusses the inadequacy of +language to express the deepest passion:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“As compared with sculpture and painting the +great infirmity of poetry, as an ‘imitation’ of +nature, is of course that the medium is always and of necessity +words—even when no words could, in the dramatic situation, +have been spoken. It is not only Homer who is obliged +sometimes to forget that passion when at white heat is never +voluble, is scarcely even articulate; the dramatists also are +obliged to forget that in love and in hate, at their tensest, +words seem weak and foolish when compared with the silent and +satisfying triumph and glory of deeds, such as the plastic arts +can render. This becomes manifest enough when we compare +the Niobe group or the Laocoon group, or the great dramatic +paintings of the modern world, with even the finest efforts of +dramatic poetry, such as the speech of Andromache to Hector, or +the speech of Priam to Achilles; nay, such as even the cries of +Cassandra in the ‘Agamemnon,’ or the wailings of Lear +over the dead Cordelia. Even when writing the words uttered +by Œdipus, as the terrible truth breaks in upon his soul, +Sophocles must have felt that, in the holiest chambers of sorrow +and in the highest agonies of suffering reigns that awful silence +which not poetry, but painting sometimes, and sculpture always, +can render. What human sounds could render the agony of +Niobe, or the agony of Laocoon, as we see them in the +sculptor’s <a name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +324</span>rendering? Not articulate speech at all; not +words, but wails. It is the same with hate; it is the same +with love. We are not speaking merely of the unpacking of +the heart in which the angry warriors of the ‘Ilaid’ +indulge. Even such subtle writing as that of Æschylus +and Sophocles falls below the work of the painter. Hate, +though voluble perhaps as Clytæmnestra’s when hate is +at that red-heat glow which the poet can render, changes in a +moment whenever that redness has been fanned into hatred’s +own last complexion—whiteness as of iron at the +melting-point—when the heart has grown far too big to be +‘unpacked’ at all, and even the bitter epigrams of +hate’s own rhetoric, though brief as the terrier’s +snap before he fleshes his teeth, or as the short snarl of the +tigress as she springs before her cubs in danger, are all too +slow and sluggish for a soul to which language at its tensest has +become idle play. But this is just what cannot be rendered +by an art whose medium consists solely of words.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Could any one reading this passage doubt that the real work of +the writer was to write poetry and not criticism?</p> +<p>But this makes it necessary for me to say a word upon the +question of the style of ‘Aylwin’—a question +that has often been discussed. The fascination of the story +is largely due to the magnetism of its style. And yet how +undecorated, not to say how plain, the style in the more level +passages often is! When the story was first written the +style glittered with literary ornament. But the author +deliberately struck out many of the poetic passages. +Coleridge tells us that an imaginative work should be written in +a simple style, and that the more imaginative the work the +simpler the style should be. I often think of these words +when I labour in the sweat of my brow to <a +name="page325"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 325</span>read the +word-twisting of precious writers! It is then that I think +of ‘Aylwin,’ for ‘Aylwin’ stands alone in +its power of carrying the reader away to climes of new and rare +beauty peopled by characters as new and as rare. It was +clearly Mr. Watts-Dunton’s idea that what such a story +needed was mastery over ‘artistic +convincement.’ He has more than once commented on the +acuteness of Edgar Poe’s remark that in the expression of +true passion there is always something of the +‘homely.’ ‘Aylwin’ is one long +unbroken cry of passion, mostly in a ‘homely key,’ +but this ‘homely key’ is left for loftier keys +whenever the proper time for the change comes. In beginning +to write, the author seems to have felt that ‘The +Renascence of Wonder’ and the quest of beauty, although +adequately expressed in the poetry of the newest romantic +school—that of Rossetti, Morris, and Swinburne—had +only found its way into imaginative prose through the highly +elaborate technique of his friend, George Meredith. He +seems to have felt that the great imaginative prose writers of +the time, Thackeray, Dickens, and Charles Reade, were in a +certain sense Philistines of genius who had done but little to +bring beauty, romance and culture into prose fiction. And +as to Meredith, though a true child of romanticism who never did +and never could breathe the air of Philistia, he had adopted a +style too self-conscious and rich in literary qualities to touch +that great English pulse that beats outside the walls of the +Palace of Art.</p> +<p>Mrs. Craigie has lately declared that at the present moment +all the most worthy English novelists, with the exception of Mr. +Thomas Hardy, are distinguished disciples of Mr. George +Meredith. But to belong to ‘the mock +Meredithians’ is not a matter of very great glory. No +one adores the work of Mr. Meredith <a name="page326"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 326</span>more than I do, though my admiration +is not without a certain leaven of distress at his literary +self-consciousness. I say this with all reverence. +Great as Meredith is, he would be greater still if, when he is +delivering his priceless gifts to us, he would bear in mind that +immortal injunction in ‘King Henry the +Fourth’—‘I prithee now, deliver them like a man +of this world.’ I can imagine how the great humourist +must smile when the dolt, who once found ‘obscurity’ +in his most lucid passages, praises him for the defects of his +qualities, and calls upon all other writers to write +Meredithese.</p> +<p>To be a classic—to be immortal—it is necessary for +an imaginative writer to deliver his message like ‘a man of +this world.’ Shakespeare himself, occasionally, will +seem to forget this, but only occasionally, and we never think of +it when falling down in worship before the shrine of the greatest +imaginative writer that has ever lived. Dr. Johnson said +that all work which lives is without eccentricity. Now, +entranced as I have been, ever since I was a boy, by +Meredith’s incomparable romances, I long to set my +imagination free of Meredith and fly away with his characters, as +I can fly away with the characters of the classic imaginative +writers from Homer down to Sir Walter Scott. But I seldom +succeed. Now and then I escape from the obsession of the +picture of the great writer seated in his chalet with the summer +sunshine gleaming round his picturesque head, but illuminating +also all too vividly his inkstand, and his paper and his pens; +but only now and then, and not for long. If it had pleased +Nature to give him less intellectual activity, less humour and +wit and literary brilliance, I feel sure that he would have lived +more securely as an English classic. I adore him, I say, +and although I do not know him personally, I love him. We +all love him: and when <a name="page327"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 327</span>I am in a very charitable mood, I +can even forgive him for having begotten the ‘mock +Meredithians.’ As to those who, without a spark of +his humourous imagination and supple intellect can manage to +mimic his style, if they only knew what a torture their +word-twisting is to the galled reviewer who wants to get on, and +to know what on earth they have got to tell him, I think they +would display a little more mercy, and even for pity’s sake +deliver their gifts like ‘men of this world.’</p> +<p>In ‘Aylwin’ Mr. Watts-Dunton seems to have +determined to be as romantic and as beautiful as the romanticists +in poetry had ever dared to be, and yet by aid of a simplicity +and a naïveté of diction of which his critical +writings had shown no sign, to carry his beautiful dreams into +Philistia itself. Never was there a bolder enterprise, and +never was there a greater success. That +‘Aylwin’ would appeal strongly to imaginative minds +was certain, for it was written by ‘the most widely +cultivated writer in the English belles lettres of our +time.’ But the strange thing is that a story so full +of romance, poetry, and beauty, should also appeal to other +minds.</p> +<p>I am no believer in mere popularity, and I confess that when +books come before me for review I cannot help casting a +suspicious eye upon any story by any of the very popular +novelists of the day. But it is necessary to explain why +the most poetical romance written within the last century is also +one of the most popular. It was in part owing to its +simplicity of diction, its naïveté of utterance, and +its freedom from superfluous literary ornamentation. I do +not as a rule like using a foreign word when an English word will +do the same work, but neither ‘artlessness,’ +‘candour’ nor ‘simplicity’ seem to +express the unique charm of the style of ‘Aylwin,’ so +completely <a name="page328"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +328</span>as does the word +‘naïveté.’ It was by +naïveté, I believe, that he carried the Renascence of +Wonder into quarters which his great brothers in the Romantic +movement could never reach.</p> +<p>For such a writer as he, the critic steeped in all the latest +subtleties of the style of to-day, and indeed the originator of +many of these subtleties, the intimate friend of such superb and +elaborate literary artists as Tennyson, Browning, George +Meredith, Rossetti and Swinburne, it must have been inconceivably +difficult to write the ‘working portions’ of his +narrative in a style as unbookish at times as if he had written +in the pre-Meredithian epoch. Having set out to convince +his readers of the truth of what he was telling them, he +determined to sacrifice all literary +‘self-indulgence’ to that end. I do not +recollect that any critic, when the book came out, noted +this. But if ‘Aylwin’ had been a French book +published in France, the naïve style adopted by the +autobiographer would have been recognized by the critics as the +crowning proof of the author’s dramatic genius. +Whenever the style seems most to suggest the pre-Meredithian +writers, it is because the story is an autobiography and because +the hero lived in pre-Meredithian times. Difficult as was +Thackeray’s tour de force in ‘Esmond,’ it was +nothing to the tour de force of ‘Aylwin.’ The +tale is told ‘as though inspired by the very spirit of +youth’ because the hero was a youth when he told it. +It is hard to imagine a writer past the meridian of life being +able to write a story ‘more flushed with the glory and the +passion and the wonder of youth than any other in English +fiction.’</p> +<p>It should be noted that whenever the incidents become +especially tragic or romantic or weird or poetic, the +‘homeliness’ of the style goes—the style at +once rises <a name="page329"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +329</span>to the occasion, it becomes not only rich, but too rich +for prose. I have now and then heard certain word-twisters +of second-hand Meredithese speak of the ‘baldness’ of +the style of ‘Aylwin.’ Roll fifty of these +word-twisters into one, and let that one write a sentence or two +of such prose as this, published at the time that +‘Aylwin’ was written. It occurs in a passage on +the greatest of all rich writers, Shakespeare:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“In the quality of richness Shakespeare +stood quite alone till the publication of +‘Endymion.’ Till then it was ‘Eclipse +first—the rest nowhere.’ When we think of +Shakespeare, it is his richness more than even his higher +qualities that we think of first. In reading him, we feel +at every turn that we have come upon a mind as rich as +Marlowe’s Moor, who</p> +<p>Without control can pick his riches up,<br /> +And in his house heap pearls, like pebble-stones.</p> +<p>Nay, he is richer still; he can, by merely looking at the +‘pebble-stones,’ turn them into pearls for himself, +like the changeling child recovered from the gnomes in the +Rosicrucian story. His riches burden him. And no +wonder: it is stiff flying with the ruby hills of +Badakhshân on your back. Nevertheless, so strong are +the wings of his imagination, so lordly is his intellect, that he +can carry them all; he could carry, it would seem, every gem in +Golconda—every gem in every planet from here to +Neptune—and yet win his goal. Now, in the matter of +richness this is the great difference between him and Keats, the +wings of whose imagination, aërial at starting, and only +iridescent like the sails of a dragon-fly, seem to change as he +goes—become overcharged with beauty, in fact—abloom +‘with splendid dyes, as are the tiger-moth’s +deep-damasked wings.’ Or, rather, it may be <a +name="page330"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 330</span>said that +he seems to start sometimes with Shakespeare’s own +eagle-pinions, which, as he mounts, catch and retain colour after +colour from the earth below, till, heavy with beauty as the +drooping wings of a golden pheasant, they fly low and level at +last over the earth they cannot leave for its loveliness, not +even for the holiness of the skies.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I will give a few instances of passages in +‘Aylwin’ quite as rich as this. One shall be +from that scene in which Winifred unconsciously reveals to her +lover that her father has stolen the jewelled cross and brought +his own father’s curse upon her beloved head:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Winifred picked up the sea weed and made a +necklace of it, in the old childish way, knowing how much it +would please me.</p> +<p>‘Isn’t it a lovely colour?’ she said, as it +glistened in the moonlight. ‘Isn’t it just as +beautiful and just as precious as if it were really made of the +jewels it seems to rival?’</p> +<p>‘It is as red as the reddest ruby,’ I replied, +putting out my hand and grasping the slippery substance.</p> +<p>‘Would you believe,’ said Winnie, ‘that I +never saw a ruby in my life? And now I particularly want to +know all about rubies.’</p> +<p>‘Why do you want particularly to know?’</p> +<p>‘Because,’ said Winifred, ‘my father, when +he wished me to come out for a walk, had been talking a great +deal about rubies.’</p> +<p>‘Your father had been talking about rubies, +Winifred—how very odd!’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Winifred, ‘and he talked about +diamonds too.’</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">The Curse</span>!’ I +murmured, and clasped her to my breast. ‘Kiss me, +Winifred!’</p> +<p><a name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 331</span>There +had come a bite of sudden fire at my heart, and I shuddered with +a dreadful knowledge, like the captain of an unarmed ship, who, +while the unconscious landsmen on board are gaily scrutinizing a +sail that like a speck has appeared on the horizon, shudders with +the knowledge of what the speck is, and hears in imagination the +yells, and sees the knives, of the Lascar pirates just starting +in pursuit. As I took in the import of those innocent +words, falling from Winifred’s bright lips, falling as +unconsciously as water-drops over a coral reef in tropical seas +alive with the eyes of a thousand sharks, my skin seemed to +roughen with dread, and my hair began to stir.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Another instance occurs in Wilderspin’s ornate +description of his great picture, ‘Faith and +Love’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Imagine yourself standing in an +Egyptian city, where innumerable lamps of every hue are +shining. It is one of the great lamp-fêtes of Sais, +which all Egypt has come to see. There, in honour of the +feast, sits a tall woman, covered by a veil. But the +painting is so wonderful, Mr. Aylwin, that, though you see a +woman’s face expressed behind the veil—though you see +the warm flesh-tints and the light of the eyes through the +aërial film—you cannot judge of the character of the +face—you cannot see whether it is that of woman in her +noblest, or woman in her basest, type. The eyes sparkle, +but you cannot say whether they sparkle with malignity or +benevolence—whether they are fired with what Philip Aylwin +calls “the love-light of the seventh heaven,” or are +threatening with “the hungry flames of the seventh +hell!” There she sits in front of a portico, while, +asleep, with folded wings, is crouched on one side of her the <a +name="page332"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 332</span>figure of +Love, with rosy feathers, and on the other the figure of Faith, +with plumage of a deep azure. Over her head, on the +portico, are written the words:—“I am all that hath +been, is, and shall be, and no mortal hath uncovered my +veil.” The tinted lights falling on the group are +shed, you see, from the rainbow-coloured lamps of Sais, which are +countless. But in spite of all these lamps, Mr. Aylwin, no +mortal can see the face behind that veil. And why? +Those who alone could uplift it, the figures folded with +wings—Faith and Love—are fast asleep, at the great +Queen’s feet. When Faith and Love are sleeping there, +what are the many-coloured lamps of science!—of what use +are they to the famished soul of man?’</p> +<p>‘A striking idea!’ I exclaimed.</p> +<p>‘Your father’s,’ replied Wilderspin, in a +tone of such reverence that one might have imagined my +father’s spectre stood before him. ‘It +symbolises that base Darwinian cosmogony which Carlyle spits at, +and the great and good John Ruskin scorns. But this design +is only the predella beneath the picture “Faith and +Love.” Now look at the picture itself, Mr. +Aylwin,’ he continued, as though it were upon an easel +before me. ‘You are at Sais no longer: you are now, +as the architecture around you shows, in a Greek city by the +sea. In the light of innumerable lamps, torches, and wax +tapers, a procession is moving through the streets. You see +Isis, as Pelagia, advancing between two ranks, one of joyous +maidens in snow white garments, adorned with wreaths, and +scattering from their bosoms all kinds of dewy flowers; the other +of youths, playing upon pipes and flutes mixed with men with +shaven shining crowns, playing upon sistra of brass, silver, and +gold. Isis wears a Dorian tunic, fastened on her breast by +a tasselled knot,—<a name="page333"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 333</span>an azure-coloured tunic bordered +with silver stars,—and an upper garment of the colour of +the moon at moon-rise. Her head is crowned with a chaplet +of sea-flowers, and round her throat is a necklace of seaweeds, +wet still with sea-water, and shimmering with all the shifting +hues of the sea. On either side of her stand the awakened +angels, uplifting from her face a veil whose folds flow soft as +water over her shoulders and over the wings of Faith and +Love. A symbol of the true cosmogony which Philip Aylwin +gave to the world!’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Another instance I take from that scene in the crypt whither +Aylwin had been drawn against his will by the ancestral impulses +in his blood to replace the jewelled cross upon the breast of his +father:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Having, with much difficulty, opened the +door, I entered the crypt. The atmosphere, though not +noisome, was heavy, and charged with an influence that worked an +extraordinary effect upon my brain and nerves. It was as +though my personality were becoming dissipated, until at last it +was partly the reflex of ancestral experiences. Scarcely +had this mood passed before a sensation came upon me of being +fanned as if by clammy bat-like wings; and then the idea seized +me that the crypt scintillated with the eyes of a malignant +foe. It was as if the curse which, until I heard Winnie a +beggar singing in the street, had been to me but a collocation of +maledictory words, harmless save in their effect upon her +superstitious mind, had here assumed an actual corporeal +shape. In the uncertain light shed by the lantern, I seemed +to see the face of this embodied curse with an ever-changing +mockery of expression; at one moment wearing the features of my +father; at another, <a name="page334"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 334</span>those of Tom Wynne; at another the +leer of the old woman I had seen in Cyril’s studio.</p> +<p>“‘It is an illusion,’ I said, as I closed my +eyes to shut it out; ‘it is an illusion, born of opiate +fumes or else of an over-taxed brain and an exhausted +stomach.’ Yet it disturbed me as much as if my reason +had accepted it as real. Against this foe I seemed to be +fighting towards my father’s coffin as a dreamer fights +against a nightmare, and at last I fell over one of the heaps of +old Danish bones in a corner of the crypt. The candle fell +from my lantern, and I was in darkness. As I sat there I +passed into a semi-conscious state. I saw sitting at the +apex of a towering pyramid, built of phosphorescent human bones +that reached far, far above the stars, the ‘Queen of Death, +Nin-ki-gal,’ scattering seeds over the earth below. +At the pyramid’s base knelt the suppliant figure of a Sibyl +pleading with the Queen of Death:</p> +<p>What answer, O Nin-ki-gal?<br /> +Have pity, O Queen of Queens!</p> +<p>I sprang up, struck a light and relit the candle, and soon +reached the coffin resting on a stone table. I found, on +examining it, that although it had been screwed down after the +discovery of the violation, the work had been so loosely done +that a few turns of the screwdriver were sufficient to set the +lid free. Then I paused; for to raise the loosened lid +(knowing as I did that it was only the blood’s inherited +follies that had conquered my rationalism and induced me to +disturb the tomb) seemed to require the strength of a +giant. Moreover, the fantastic terror of old +Lantoff’s story, which at another time would have made me +smile, also took bodily shape, and the picture of a dreadful +struggle at the edge of the cliff between <a +name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +335</span>Winnie’s father and mine seemed to hang in the +air—a fascinating mirage of ghastly horror . . .</p> +<p>At last, by an immense effort of will, I closed my eyes and +pushed the lid violently on one side . . .</p> +<p>The ‘sweet odours and divers kinds of spices’ of +the Jewish embalmer rose like a gust of incense—rose and +spread through the crypt like the sweet breath of a newborn +blessing, till the air of the charnel-house seemed laden with a +mingled odour of indescribable sweetness. Never had any +odour so delighted my senses; never had any sensuous influence so +soothed my soul.</p> +<p>While I stood inhaling the scents of opobalsam, and cinnamon +and myrrh, and wine of palm and oil of cedar, and all the other +spices of the Pharaohs, mingled in one strange aromatic cloud, my +personality seemed again to become, in part, the reflex of +ancestral experiences.</p> +<p>I opened my eyes. I looked into the coffin. The +face (which had been left by the embalmer exposed) confronted +mine. ‘Fenella Stanley!’ I cried, for the great +transfigurer Death had written upon my father’s brow that +self-same message which the passions of a thousand Romany +ancestors had set upon the face of her whose portrait hung in the +picture-gallery. And the rubies and diamonds and beryls of +the cross as it now hung upon my breast, catching the light of +the opened lantern in my left hand, shed over the features an +indescribable reflex hue of quivering rose.</p> +<p>Beneath his head I placed the silver casket: I hung the +hair-chain round his neck: I laid upon his breast the long-loved +memento of his love and the parchment scroll.</p> +<p>Then I sank down by the coffin, and prayed. I knew not +what or why. But never since the first human prayer was +breathed did there rise to heaven a supplication so incoherent +and so wild as mine. Then I rose, and laying <a +name="page336"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 336</span>my hand +upon my father’s cold brow, I said: ‘You have +forgiven me for all the wild words that I uttered in my long +agony. They were but the voice of intolerable misery +rebelling against itself. You, who suffered so +much—who know so well those flames burning at the +heart’s core—those flames before which all the forces +of the man go down like prairie-grass before the fire and +wind—you have forgiven me. You who knew the meaning +of the wild word Love—you have forgiven your suffering son, +stricken like yourself. You have forgiven me, father, and +forgiven him, the despoiler of your tomb: you have removed the +curse, and his child—his innocent child—is +free.’ . . .</p> +<p>I replaced the coffin-lid, and screwing it down left the +crypt, so buoyant and exhilarated that I stopped in the +churchyard and asked myself: ‘Do I, then, really believe +that she was under a curse? Do I really believe that my +restoring the amulet has removed it? Have I really come to +this?’</p> +<p>Throughout all these proceedings—yes, even amidst that +prayer to Heaven, amidst that impassioned appeal to my dead +father—had my reason been keeping up that scoffing at my +heart which I have before described.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>My last instance shall be from D’Arcy’s letter, in +which he records the marvellous events that led to his meeting +with Winifred:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And now, my dear Aylwin, having acted as a +somewhat prosaic reporter of these wonderful events, I should +like to conclude my letter with a word or two about what took +place when I parted from you in the streets of London. I +saw then that your sufferings had been very great, and since that +time they must have been tenfold greater. <a +name="page337"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 337</span>And now I +rejoice to think that, of all the men in this world who have ever +loved, you, through this very suffering, have been the most +fortunate. As Job’s faith was tried by Heaven, so has +your love been tried by the power which you call +‘circumstance’ and which Wilderspin calls ‘the +spiritual world.’ All that death has to teach the +mind and the heart of man you have learnt to the very full, and +yet she you love is restored to you, and will soon be in your +arms. I, alas! have long known that the tragedy of +tragedies is the death of a beloved mistress, or a beloved +wife. I have long known that it is as the King of Terrors +that Death must needs come to any man who knows what the word +‘love’ really means. I have never been a reader +of philosophy, but I understand that the philosophers of all +countries have been preaching for ages upon ages about +resignation to Death—about the final beneficence of +Death—that ‘reasonable moderator and equipoise of +justice,’ as Sir Thomas Browne calls him. Equipoise +of justice indeed! He who can read with tolerance such +words as these must have known nothing of the true passion of +love for a woman as you and I understand it. The +Elizabethans are full of this nonsense; but where does +Shakespeare, with all his immense philosophical power, ever show +this temper of acquiescence? All his impeachments of Death +have the deep ring of personal feeling—dramatist though he +was. But, what I am going to ask you is, How shall the +modern materialist, who you think is to dominate the Twentieth +Century and all the centuries to follow—how shall he +confront Death when a beloved mistress is struck down? When +Moschus lamented that the mallow, the anise, and the parsley had +a fresh birth every year, whilst we men sleep in the hollow earth +a long, unbounded, never-waking sleep, he told us what your +modern materialist tells us, <a name="page338"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 338</span>and he re-echoed the lamentation +which, long before Greece had a literature at all, had been heard +beneath Chaldean stars and along the mud-banks of the Nile. +Your bitter experience made you ask materialism, What comfort is +there in being told that death is the very nursery of new life, +and that our heirs are our very selves, if when you take leave of +her who was and is your world it is ‘Vale, vale, in +æternum vale’?”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>These quotations may be taken as specimens of the passages of +decorated writing which the author, in order to get closer to the +imagination of the reader, mercilessly struck out in proof. +Whether he did wisely or unwisely in striking them out is an +interesting question for criticism.</p> +<p>But certainly the reader has only to go through the book with +this criticism in his mind, and he will see that when the story +passes into such lofty speculation as that of the opening +sentences of the book, or into some equally lofty mood of the +love passion, the style becomes not only full of literary +qualities, but almost over-full; it becomes a style which can +best be described in his own words about richness of style which +I have quoted from the ‘Athenæum.’ I do +not doubt that Mr. Watts-Dunton was quite right in acting upon +Coleridge’s theory; for, notwithstanding the +‘fairy-like beauty’ of the story it is as convincing +as a story told upon a prosaic subject by Defoe. In fact, +it would be hard to name any novel wherein those laws of means +and ends in art which Mr. Watts-Dunton has formulated in the +‘Athenæum’ are more fully observed than in +‘Aylwin.’</p> +<p>Madame Galimberti says in the ‘Rivista +d’Italia’:—“‘Aylwin’ was +begun in verse, and was written in prose only when the plot, +taking, so to say, the poet by the <a name="page339"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 339</span>hand, showed the necessity of a form +more in keeping with the nature of the work; and in ‘The +Coming of Love,’ in which the facts are condensed so as to +give full relief to the philosophical motive, the result is, in +my opinion, more perfect.” <a name="citation339"></a><a +href="#footnote339" class="citation">[339]</a> My remarks +upon ‘The Coming of Love’ will show that I agree with +the accomplished wife of the Italian Minister in placing it above +‘Aylwin’ as a satisfactory work of art, but that is +because I consider ‘The Coming of Love’ the most +important as well as the most original poem that has been +published for many years.</p> +<p>Madame Galimberti touches here upon a very important subject +for the literary student. I may say for myself that I have +invariably spoken of ‘Aylwin’ as a poem, and I have +done so deliberately. Indeed, I think the fact that it is a +poem is at once its strength and its weakness. It does not +come under the critical canons that are applied to a prose novel +or romance. As a prose novel its one defect is that the +quest for mere beauty is pushed too far; lovely picture follows +lovely picture until the novel reader is inclined at last to cry, +‘Hold, enough!’</p> +<p>In one of his essays on Morris, Mr. Watts-Dunton asks, +‘What is poetic prose?’ And then follows a +passage which must always be borne in mind when criticizing +‘Aylwin.’</p> +<blockquote><p>“On no subject in literary criticism,” +says he, “has <a name="page340"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 340</span>there been a more persistent +misconception than upon this. What is called poetic prose +is generally rhetorical prose, and between rhetoric and poetry +there is a great difference. Poetical prose, we take it, is +that kind of prose which above all other kinds holds in suspense +the essential qualities of poetry. If ‘eloquence is +heard and poetry overheard,’ where shall be placed the +tremendous perorations of De Quincey, or the sonorous and +highly-coloured descriptions of Ruskin? Grand and beautiful +are such periods as these, no doubt, but prose to be truly +poetical must move far away from them. It must, in a word, +have all the qualities of what we technically call poetry except +metre. We have, indeed, said before that while the +poet’s object is to arouse in the listener an expectancy of +cæsuric effects, the great goal before the writer of poetic +prose is in the very opposite direction; it is to make use of the +concrete figures and impassioned diction that are the +poet’s vehicle, but at the same time to avoid the +expectancy of metrical bars. The moment that the regular +bars assert themselves and lead the reader’s ears to expect +other bars of the like kind, sincerity ends.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton himself has given us the best of all canons +for answering the question, ‘What is a poem as +distinguished from other forms of imaginative +literature?’ In his essay on Poetry he +says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Owing to the fact that the word +<i>ποιητής</i> (first used to +designate the poetic artist by Herodotus) means maker, Aristotle +seems to have assumed that the indispensable basis of poetry is +invention. He appears to have thought that a poet is a poet +more on account of the composition of the action than on account +of the composition of his <a name="page341"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 341</span>verses. Indeed, he said as +much as this. Of epic poetry he declared emphatically that +it produces its imitations either by mere articulate words or by +metre superadded. This is to widen the definition of poetry +so as to include all imaginative literature, and Plato seems to +have given an equally wide meaning to the word +<i>ποίησις</i>. Only, +while Aristotle considered +<i>ποίησις</i> to be an +imitation of the facts of nature, Plato considered it to be an +imitation of the dreams of man. Aristotle ignored, and +Plato slighted, the importance of versification (though Plato on +one occasion admitted that he who did not know rhythm could be +called neither musician nor poet). It is impossible to +discuss here the question whether an imaginative work in which +the method is entirely concrete and the expression entirely +emotional, while the form is unmetrical, is or is not entitled to +be called a poem. That there may be a kind of unmetrical +narrative so poetic in motive, so concrete in diction, so +emotional in treatment, as to escape altogether from those +critical canons usually applied to prose, we shall see when, in +discussing the epic, we come to touch upon the Northern +sagas.</p> +<p>“Perhaps the first critic who tacitly revolted against +the dictum that substance, and not form, is the indispensable +basis of poetry was Dionysius of Halicarnassus, whose treatise +upon the arrangement of words is really a very fine piece of +literary criticism. In his acute remarks upon the +arrangement of the words in the sixteenth book of the Odyssey, as +compared with that in the story of Gyges by Herodotus, was +perhaps first enunciated clearly the doctrine that poetry is +fundamentally a matter of style. The Aristotelian theory as +to invention, however, dominated all criticism after as well as +before Dionysius. When Bacon came to discuss the subject +(and afterwards), the only division between the poetical <a +name="page342"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 342</span>critics was +perhaps between the followers of Aristotle and those of Plato as +to what poetry should, and what it should not, imitate. It +is curious to speculate as to what would have been the result had +the poets followed the critics in this matter. Perhaps +there are critics of a very high rank who would class as poems +romances so concrete in method and diction, and so full of poetic +energy, as ‘Wuthering Heights’ and ‘Jane +Eyre,’ where we get absolutely all that Aristotle requires +for a poem.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, if this be so in regard to those great romances, it must +be still more so with regard to ‘Aylwin,’ where +beauty and nothing but beauty seems to be the be-all and the +end-all of the work.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p342b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Henry Aylwin and Winifred under the Cliff. (From an Oil +Painting at ‘The Pines.’)" +title= +"Henry Aylwin and Winifred under the Cliff. (From an Oil +Painting at ‘The Pines.’)" +src="images/p342s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>As ‘Aylwin’ was begun in metre, it would be very +interesting to know on what lines the metre was +constructed. Readers of ‘Aylwin’ have been +struck with the music of the opening sentences, which are given +as an extract from Philip Aylwin’s book, ‘The Veiled +Queen’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Those who in childhood have had solitary +communings with the sea know the sea’s prophecy. They +know that there is a deeper sympathy between the sea and the soul +of man than other people dream of. They know that the water +seems nearer akin than the land to the spiritual world, inasmuch +as it is one and indivisible, and has motion, and answers to the +mysterious call of the winds, and is the writing tablet of the +moon and stars. When a child who, born beside the sea, and +beloved by the sea, feels suddenly, as he gazes upon it, a dim +sense of pity and warning; when there comes, or seems to come, a +shadow across the waves, with never a cloud in the sky to cast +it; when there comes a shuddering <a name="page343"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 343</span>as of wings that move in dread or +ire, then such a child feels as if the bloodhounds of calamity +are let loose upon him or upon those he loves; he feels that the +sea has told him all it dares tell or can. And, in other +moods of fate, when beneath a cloudy sky the myriad dimples of +the sea begin to sparkle as though the sun were shining bright +upon them, such a child feels, as he gazes at it, that the sea is +telling him of some great joy near at hand, or, at least, not far +off.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Many a reader will echo the words of a writer in ‘Notes +and Queries,’ who says that this passage has haunted him +since first he read it: I know it haunted me after I read +it. But I wonder how many critics have read this passage in +connection with Mr. Watts-Dunton’s metrical studies which +have been carried on in the ‘Athenæum’ during +more than a quarter of a century. They are closely +connected with what he has said upon Bible rhythm in his article +upon the Psalms, which I have already quoted, and in many other +essays. Mr. Watts-Dunton, acknowledged to be a great +authority on metrical subjects, has for years been declaring that +we are on the verge of a new kind of metrical art +altogether—a metrical art in which the emotions govern the +metrical undulations. And I take the above passage and the +following to be examples of what the movement in +‘Aylwin’ would have been if he had not abandoned the +project of writing the story in metre:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Then quoth the Ka’dee, laughing until +his grinders appeared: ‘Rather, by Allah, would I take all +the punishment thou dreadest, thou most false donkey-driver of +the Ruby Hills, than believe this story of thine—<a +name="page344"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 344</span>this mad, +mad story, that she with whom thou wast seen was not the living +wife of Hasan here (as these four legal witnesses have sworn), +but thine own dead spouse, Alawiyah, refashioned for thee by the +Angel of Memory out of thine own sorrow and unquenchable fountain +of tears.’</p> +<p>Quoth Ja’afar, bowing low his head: ‘Bold is the +donkey-driver, O Ka’dee! and bold the Ka’dee who +dares say what he will believe, what disbelieve—not knowing +in any wise the mind of Allah—not knowing in any wise his +own heart and what it shall some day suffer.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Break these passages up into irregular lines, and you get a +new metre of a very emotional kind, governed as to length by the +sense pause. Mr. Watts-Dunton has been arguing for many +years that English verse is, as Coleridge long ago pointed out, +properly governed by the number of accents and not by the number +of syllables in a line, and that this accentual system is +governed, or should be governed, by emotion. It is a +singular thing, by the bye, that writer after writer of late has +been arguing over and over again Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +arguments, and seems to be saying a new thing by using the word +‘stress’ for ‘accent.’ +‘Stress’ may or may not be a better word than +‘accent,’ the word used by Coleridge, and after him +by Mr. Watts-Dunton, but the idea conveyed is one and the +same. I, for my part, believe that rare as new ideas may be +in creative work, they are still rarer in criticism.</p> +<h2><a name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +345</span>Chapter XXI<br /> +THE METHODS OF PROSE FICTION</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">And</span> now a word upon the imaginative +power of ‘Aylwin.’ Very much has been written +both in England and on the Continent concerning the source of the +peculiar kind of ‘imaginative vividness’ shown in the +story. The rushing narrative, as has been said, ‘is +so fused in its molten stream that it seems one sentence, and it +carries the reader irresistibly along through pictures of beauty +and mystery till he becomes breathless.’ The truth +is, however, that the mere method of the evolution of the story +has a great deal more to do with this than is at first +apparent. Upon this artistic method very little has been +written save what I myself said when it first appeared. If +the unequalled grip of the story upon the reader had been secured +by methods as primitive, as unconscious as those of ‘Jane +Eyre’ and ‘Wuthering Heights,’ I should +estimate the pure, unadulterated imaginative force at work even +more highly than I now do. But, as a critic, I must always +inquire whether or not a writer’s imaginative vision is +strengthened by constructive power. I must take into +account the aid that the imagination of the writer has received +from his mere self-conscious artistic skill. Now it is not +to praise ‘Aylwin,’ but, I fear, to disparage it in a +certain sense to say that the power of the scenes owes much to +the mere artistic method, amounting at <a +name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 346</span>times to +subtlety. I have heard the greatest of living poets mention +‘Tom Jones,’ ‘Waverley,’ and +‘Aylwin’ as three great novels whose reception by the +outside public has been endorsed by criticism. One of the +signs of Scott’s unique genius was the way in which he +invented and carried to perfection the method of moving towards +the dénouement by dialogue as much as by narrative. +This gave a source of new brilliance to prose fiction, and it was +certainly one of the most effective causes of the enormous +success of ‘Waverley.’ This masterpiece opens, +it will be remembered, in distinct imitation of the method of +Fielding, but soon broke into the new dramatic method with which +Scott’s name is associated. But in +‘Waverley’ Scott had not yet begun to use the +dramatic method so freely as to sacrifice the very different +qualities imported into the novel by Fielding, whose method was +epic rather than dramatic. I think Mr. Watts-Dunton has +himself somewhere commented upon this, and said that Scott +carried the dramatic method quite as far as it could go without +making the story suffer from that kind of stageyness and +artificial brightness which is fatal to the novel. +Scott’s disciple, Dumas, a more brilliant writer of +dialogue than Scott himself, but not so true a one, carried the +dramatic method too far and opened the way to mimics, who carried +it further still. In ‘Aylwin,’ the blending of +the two methods, the epic and the dramatic, is so skilfully done +as to draw all the advantages that can be drawn from both; and +this skill must be an enormous aid to the imaginative +vision—an aid which Charlotte and Emily Brontë had to +dispense with: but it is in the arrangement of the material on +self-conscious constructive principles that I am chiefly thinking +when I compare the imaginative vision in ‘Aylwin’ +with that in ‘Jane Eyre’ and ‘Wuthering +Heights.’ On the <a name="page347"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 347</span>whole, no one seems to have studied +‘Aylwin’ from all points of view with so much insight +as Madame Galimberti, unless it be M. Jacottet in ‘La +Semaine Littéraire.’ Mr. Watts-Dunton in one +of his essays has himself remarked that nine-tenths of the +interest of any dramatic situation are lost if before approaching +it the reader has not been made to feel an interest in the +characters, as Fielding makes us feel an interest in Tom and +Sophia long before they utter a word—indeed, long before +they are introduced at all. This is true, no doubt, and the +contemporary method of beginning a story like the opening of a +play with long dialogues between characters that are strangers to +the reader, is one among the many signs that, so far as securing +illusion goes, there is a real retrogression in fictive +art. A play, of course, must open in this way, but in an +acted play the characters come bodily before the audience as real +flesh and blood. They come surrounded by real +accessories. They win our sympathy or else our dislike as +soon as we see them and hear them speak. The dramatic +scenes between Jane Eyre and Rochester would miss half their +effect were it not for the picture of Jane as a child. In +‘Aylwin,’ by the time that there is any introduction +of dramatic dialogue the atmosphere of the story has enveloped +us: we have become so deeply in love with the two children that +the most commonplace words from their lips would have seemed +charged with beauty. This kind of perfection of the +novelist’s art, in these days when stories are written to +pass through magazines and newspapers, seemed impossible till +‘Aylwin’ appeared. It is curious to speculate +as to what would have been the success of the opening chapters of +‘Aylwin’ if an instalment of the story had first made +its appearance in a magazine.</p> +<p>One of the most remarkable features of ‘Aylwin’ is +<a name="page348"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 348</span>that in +spite of the strength and originality of the mere story and in +spite of the fact that the book is fundamentally the expression +of a creed, the character painting does not in the least suffer +from these facts. Striking and new as the story is, there +is nothing mechanical about the structure. The characters +are not, to use a well known phrase of the author’s, +‘plot-ridden’ in the least degree, as are the +characters of the great masters of the plot-novel, Lytton, +Charles Reade, and Wilkie Collins, to mention only those who are +no longer with us. Perhaps in order to show what I mean I +ought to go a little into detail here. In ‘Man and +Wife,’ for instance, Collins, with his eye only upon his +plot, makes the heroine, a lady whose delicacy of mind and +nobility of character are continually dwelt upon, not only by the +author but by a sagacious man of the world like Sir Peter, who +afterwards marries her, succumb to the animal advances of a brute +like Geoffrey. Many instances of the same sacrifice of +everything to plot occur in most of Collins’s other +stories, and as to the ‘long arm of coincidence’ he +not only avails himself of that arm whenever it is convenient to +do so, but he positively revels in his slavery to it. In +‘Armadale,’ for instance, besides scores of monstrous +improbabilities, such as the ship ‘La Grace de Dieu’ +coming to Scotland expressly that Allan Armadale should board her +and have a dream upon her, and such as Midwinter’s being by +accident brought into touch with Allan in a remote village in +Devonshire when he was upon the eve of death, we find +coincidences which are not of the smallest use, introduced simply +because the author loves coincidences—such as that of +making a family connection of Armadale’s rescue Miss Gwilt +from drowning and get drowned himself, and thus bring about the +devolution of the property upon Allan <a name="page349"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 349</span>Armadale—an entirely +superfluous coincidence, for the working power of this incident +could have been secured in countless other ways. ‘No +Name’ bristles with coincidences, such as that most +impudent one where the heroine is at the point of death by +destitution, and the one man who loves her and who had just +returned to England passes down the obscure and squalid street he +had never seen before at the very moment when she is +sinking. It is the same with Bulwer Lytton’s +novels. In ‘Night and Morning,’ for instance, +people are tossed against each other in London, the country, or +Paris at every moment whensoever the story demands it. As +to Gawtry, one of the few really original villains in modern +fiction, as soon as the story opens we expect him to turn up +every moment like a jack in-the-box; we expect him to meet the +hero in the most unlikely places, and to meet every other +character in the same way. Let his presence be required, +and we know that he will certainly turn up to put things +right. But in ‘Aylwin,’ which has been well +called by a French critic, ‘a novel without a +villain,’ where sinister circumstance takes the place of +the villain, there is not a single improbable coincidence; +everything flows from a few simple causes, such as the effect +upon an English patrician of love baffled by all kinds of +fantastic antagonisms, the influence of the doctrines of the dead +father upon the minds of several individuals, and the influence +of the impact of the characters upon each other. Another +thing to note is that in spite of the strange, new scenes in +which the characters move, they all display that ‘softness +of touch’ upon which the author has himself written so +eloquently in one of his articles in the +‘Athenæum.’ I must find room to quote his +words on this interesting subject:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page350"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +350</span>“The secret of the character-drawing of the great +masters seems to be this: while moulding the character from broad +general elements, from universal types of humanity, they are able +to delude the reader’s imagination into mistaking the +picture for real portraiture, and this they achieve by making the +portrait seem to be drawn from particular and peculiar traits +instead of from generalities, and especially by hiding away all +purposes—æsthetic, ethic, or political.</p> +<p>One great virtue of the great masters is their winsome +softness of touch in character drawing. We are not fond of +comparing literary work with pictorial art, but between the work +of the novelist and the work of the portrait painter there does +seem a true analogy as regards the hardness and softness of touch +in the drawing of characters. In landscape painting that +hardness which the general public love is a fault; but in +portrait painting so important is it to avoid hardness that +unless the picture seems to have been blown upon the canvas, as +in the best work of Gainsborough, rather than to have been laid +upon it by the brush, the painter has not achieved a perfect +success. In the imaginative literature of England the two +great masters of this softness of touch in portraiture are +Addison and Sterne. Three or four hardly-drawn lines in Sir +Roger or the two Shandys, or Corporal Trim, would have ruined the +portraits so completely that they would never have come down to +us. Close upon Addison comes Scott, in whose vast gallery +almost every portrait is painted with a Gainsborough +softness. Scarcely one is limned with those hard lines +which are too often apt to mar the glorious work of +Dickens. After Scott comes Thackeray or Fielding, unless it +be Mrs. Gaskell. We are not in this article dealing with, +or even alluding to, contemporary writers, or we might easily say +what novelists follow Mrs. Gaskell.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page351"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 351</span>Read +in the light of these remarks the characters in +‘Aylwin’ become still more interesting to the +critic. Observe how soft is the touch of the writer +compared with that of a novelist of real though eccentric genius, +Charles Reade. Now and again in Reade’s portraits we +get softness, as in the painting of the delightful Mrs. Dodd and +her daughter, but it is very rare. The contrast between him +and Mr. Watts-Dunton in this regard is most conspicuously seen in +their treatment of members of what are called the upper +classes. No doubt Reade does occasionally catch (what +Charles Dickens never catches) that unconscious accent of high +breeding which Thackeray, with all his yearning to catch it, +scarcely ever could catch, save perhaps, in such a character as +Lord Kew, but which Disraeli catches perfectly in St. +Aldegonde.</p> +<p>On the appearance of ‘Aylwin’ it was amusing to +see how puzzled many of the critics were when they came to talk +about the various classes in which the various figures +moved. How could a man give pictures of gypsies in their +tents, East Enders in their slums, Bohemian painters in their +studios, aristocrats in their country houses, and all of them +with equal vividness? But vividness is not always +truth. Some wondered whether the gypsies were true, when +‘up and spake’ the famous Tarno Rye himself, Groome, +the greatest authority on gypsies in the world, and said they +were true to the life. Following him, ‘up and +spake’ Gypsy Smith, and proclaimed them to be ‘the +only pictures of the gypsies that were true.’ Some +wondered whether the painters and Bohemians were rightly painted, +when ‘up and spake’ Mr. Hake—more intimately +acquainted with them than any living man left save W. M. Rossetti +and Mr. Sharp—and said the pictures were as true as +photographs. But <a name="page352"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 352</span>before I pass on I must devote a few +parenthetical words to the most curious thing connected with this +matter. Not even the most captious critic, as far as I +remember, ventured to challenge the manners of the patricians who +play such an important part in the story. The Aylwin +family, as Madame Galimberti has hinted, belonged to the only +patriciate which either Landor or Disraeli recognized: the old +landed untitled gentry. The best delineator of this class +is, of course, Whyte Melville. But those who have read Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s remarks upon Byron in Chambers’s +‘Cyclopædia of English Literature’ will +understand how thoroughly he too has studied this most +interesting class. The hero himself, in spite of all his +eccentricity and in spite of all his Bohemianism, is a +patrician—a patrician to the very marrow. +‘There is not throughout Aylwin’s narrative—a +narrative running to something under 200,000 words—a single +wrong note.’ This opinion I heard expressed by a very +eminent writer, who from his own birth and environment can speak +with authority. The way in which Henry Aylwin as a child is +made to feel that his hob-a-nobbing on equal terms with the +ragamuffin of the sands cannot really degrade an English +gentleman; the way in which Henry Aylwin, the hobbledehoy, is +made to feel that he cannot be lowered by living with gypsies, or +by marrying the daughter of ‘the drunken organist who +violated my father’s tomb’; the way in which he says +that ‘if society rejects him and his wife, he shall reject +society’;—all this shows a mastery over +‘softness of touch’ in depicting this kind of +character such as not even Whyte Melville has equalled. +Henry Aylwin’s mother, to whom the word trade and +plebeianism were synonymous terms, is the very type of the grande +dame, untouched by the vulgarities of the smart set of her <a +name="page353"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 353</span>time (for +there were vulgar smart sets then as there were vulgar smart sets +in the time of Beau Brummell, and as there are vulgar smart sets +now). Then there is that wonderful aunt, of whom we see so +little but whose influence is so great and so mischievous. +What a type is she of the meaner and more withered branch of a +patrician tree! But the picture of Lord Sleaford is by far +the most vivid portrait of a nobleman that has appeared in any +novel since ‘Lothair.’ Thackeray never +‘knocked off’ a nobleman so airily and so +unconsciously as this delightful lordling, whose portrait Mr. +Watts-Dunton has ‘blown’ upon his canvas in the true +Gainsborough way. I wish I could have got permission to +give more than a bird’s-eye glance at Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s wide experience of all kinds of life, but I +can only touch upon what the reading public is already familiar +with. At one period of his life—the period during +which he and Whistler were brought together—the period when +‘Piccadilly,’ upon which they were both engaged, was +having its brief run, Mr. Watts-Dunton mixed very largely with +what was then, as now, humourously called +‘Society.’ It has been said that ‘for a +few years not even “Dicky Doyle” or Jimmy Whistler +went about quite so much as Theodore Watts.’ I have +seen Whistler’s presentation copy of the first edition of +‘The Gentle Art of Making Enemies’ with this +inscription:—‘To Theodore Watts, the +Worldling.’ Below this polite flash of persiflage the +famous butterfly flaunts its elusive wings. But this was +only Whistler’s fun. Mr. Watts-Dunton was never, we +may be sure, a worldling. Still one wonders that the most +romantic of poets ever fell so low as to go into +‘Society’ with a big S. Perhaps it was because, +having studied life among the gypsies, life among the artists, +life among the literary men of the old Bohemia, life among <a +name="page354"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 354</span>the +professional and scientific classes, he thought he would study +the butterflies too. However, he seems soon to have got +satiated, for he suddenly dropped out of the smart +Paradise. I mention this episode because it alone, apart +from the power of his dramatic imagination, is sufficient to show +why in Henry Aylwin he has so successfully painted for us the +finest picture that has ever been painted of a true English +gentleman tossed about in scenes and among people of all sorts +and retaining the pristine bloom of England’s patriciate +through it all.</p> +<p>In my essay upon Mr. Watts-Dunton in Chambers’s +‘Cyclopædia of English Literature,’ I made this +remark:—“Notwithstanding the vogue of +‘Aylwin,’ there is no doubt that it is on his poems, +such as ‘The Coming of Love,’ ‘Christmas at the +Mermaid,’ ‘Prophetic Pictures at Venice,’ +‘John the Pilgrim,’ ‘The Omnipotence of +Love,’ ‘The Three Fausts,’ ‘What the +Silent Voices Said,’ ‘Apollo in Paris,’ +‘The Wood-haunters’ Dream,’ ‘The Octopus +of the Golden Isles,’ ‘The Last Walk with Jowett from +Boar’s Hill,’ and ‘Omar Khayyàm,’ +that Mr. Watts-Dunton’s future position will mainly +rest.”</p> +<p>I did not say this rashly. But in order to justify my +opinion I must quote somewhat copiously from Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s remarks upon absolute and relative vision, +in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica.’ It has +been well said that ‘in judging of the seeing power of any +work of imagination, either in prose or in verse, it is now +necessary always to try the work by the critical canons upon +absolute and relative vision laid down in this +treatise.’ If we turn to it, we shall find that +absolute vision is defined to be that vision which in its highest +dramatic exercise is unconditioned by the personal temperament of +the writer, while relative vision is defined to <a +name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 355</span>be that +vision which is more or less conditioned by the personal +temperament of the writer. And then follows a long +discussion of various great imaginative works in which the two +kinds of vision are seen:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“For the achievement of most imaginative +work relative vision will suffice. If we consider the +matter thoroughly, in many forms—which at first sight might +seem to require absolute vision—we shall find nothing but +relative vision at work. Between relative and absolute +vision the difference is this, that the former only enables the +imaginative writer even in its very highest exercise, to make his +own individuality, or else humanity as represented by his own +individuality, live in the imagined situation; the latter enables +him in its highest exercise to make special individual characters +other than the poet’s own live in the imagined +situation. In the very highest reaches of imaginative +writing art seems to become art no longer—it seems to +become the very voice of Nature herself. The cry of Priam +when he puts to his lips the hand that slew his son, is not +merely the cry of a bereaved and aged parent; it is the cry of +the individual king of Troy, and expresses above everything else +that most naïve, pathetic, and winsome character. Put +the cry into the mouth of the irascible and passionate Lear, and +it would be entirely out of keeping. While the poet of +relative vision, even in its very highest exercise, can only, +when depicting the external world, deal with the general, the +poet of absolute vision can compete with Nature herself and deal +with both general and particular.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, the difference between ‘The Coming of Love’ +and ‘Aylwin’ is this, that in ‘Aylwin’ +the impulse is, <a name="page356"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +356</span>or seems to be, lyrical, and therefore too egoistic for +absolute vision to be achieved. Of course, if we are to +take Henry Aylwin in the novel to be an entirely dramatic +character, then that character is so full of vitality that it is +one of the most remarkable instances of purely dramatic +imagination that we have had in modern times. For there is +nothing that he says or does that is not inevitable from the +nature of the character placed in the dramatic situation. +Those who are as familiar as I am with Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +prose writings outside ‘Aylwin’ find it extremely +difficult to identify the brilliant critic of the +‘Athenæum,’ full of ripe wisdom and sagacity, +with the impassioned boy of the story. Indeed, I should +never have dreamed of identifying the character with the author +any more than I should have thought of identifying Philip Aylwin +with the author had it not been for the fact that Mr. +Watts-Dunton, in his preface to one of the constantly renewed +editions of his book, seems to suggest that identification +himself. I have already quoted the striking passage in the +introduction to the later editions of the book in which this +identification seems to be suggested. But, matters being as +they are with regard to the identification of the hero of the +prose story with the author, it is to ‘The Coming of +Love’ that we must for the most part turn for proof that +the writer is possessed of absolute vision. Percy Aylwin +and Rhona are there presented in the purely dramatic way, and +they give utterance to their emotions, not only untrammelled by +the lyricism of the dramatist, but untrammelled also, as I have +before remarked, by the exigencies of a conscious dramatic +structure. In no poetry of our time can there be seen more +of that absolute vision so lucidly discoursed upon in the +foregoing extract. From her first love-letter <a +name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 357</span>Rhona leaps +into life, and she seems to be more elaborately painted not only +than any woman in recent poetry, but any woman in recent +literature. Percy Aylwin lives also with almost equal +vitality. I need not give examples of this here, for later +I shall quote freely from the poem in order that the reader may +form his own judgment, unbiassed by the views of myself or any +other critic.</p> +<p>With regard to ‘Aylwin,’ however, apart from the +character of the hero, who is drawn lyrically or dramatically, +according, as I have said, to the evidence that he is or is not +the author himself, there are still many instances of a vision +that may be called absolute. Among the many letters from +strangers that reached the author when ‘Aylwin’ first +appeared was one from a person who, like Henry Aylwin, had been +made lame by accident. This gentleman said that he felt +sure that the author of ‘Aylwin’ had also been lame, +and gave several instances from the story which had made him come +to this conclusion. One was the following:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Shall we go and get some +strawberries?’ she said, as we passed to the back of the +house. ‘They are quite ripe.’</p> +<p>But my countenance fell at this. I was obliged to tell +her that I could not stoop.</p> +<p>‘Ah! but I can, and I will pluck them and give them to +you. I should like to do it. Do let me, there’s +a good boy.’</p> +<p>I consented, and hobbled by her side to the verge of the +strawberry-beds. But when I foolishly tried to follow her, +I stuck ignominiously, with my crutches sunk deep in the soft +mould of rotten leaves. Here was a trial for the conquering +hero of the coast. I <a name="page358"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 358</span>looked into her face to see if there +was not, at last, a laugh upon it. That cruel human laugh +was my only dread. To everything but ridicule I had +hardened myself; but against that I felt helpless.</p> +<p>I looked into her face to see if she was laughing at my +lameness. No: her brows were merely knit with anxiety as to +how she might best relieve me. This surpassingly beautiful +child, then, had evidently accepted me—lameness and +all—crutches and all—as a subject of peculiar +interest.</p> +<p>As I slowly approached the child, I could see by her forehead +(which in the sunshine gleamed like a globe of pearl), and +especially by her complexion, that she was uncommonly lovely, and +I was afraid lest she should look down before I got close to her, +and so see my crutches before her eyes encountered my +face.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As a matter of fact, however, the author never had been +lame.</p> +<p>The following passages have often been quoted as instances of +the way in which a wonderful situation is realized as thoroughly +as if it had been of the most commonplace kind:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And what was the effect upon me of these +communings with the ancestors whose superstitions I have, +perhaps, been throughout this narrative treating in a spirit that +hardly becomes their descendant?</p> +<p>The best and briefest way of answering this question is to +confess not what I thought, as I went on studying my +father’s book, its strange theories and revelations, but +what I did. I read the book all day long: I read it all the +next day. I cannot say what days passed. One night I +resumed my wanderings in the streets for <a +name="page359"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 359</span>an hour or +two, and then returned home and went to bed—but not to +sleep. For me there was no more sleep till those ancestral +voices could be quelled—till the sound of Winnie’s +song in the street could be stopped in my ears. For very +relief from them I again leapt out of bed, lit a candle, unlocked +the cabinet, and, taking out the amulet, proceeded to examine the +facets as I did once before when I heard in the Swiss cottage +these words of my stricken father—</p> +<p>‘Should you ever come to love as I have loved, you will +find that materialism is intolerable—is hell +itself—to the heart that has known a passion like +mine. You will find that it is madness, Hal, madness, to +believe in the word “never”! You will find that +you dare not leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers +the heart a ray of hope.’</p> +<p>And then while the candle burnt out dead in the socket I sat +in a waking dream.</p> +<p>The bright light of morning was pouring through the +window. I gave a start of horror, and cried, ‘Whose +face?’ Opposite to me there seemed to be sitting on a +bed the figure of a man with a fiery cross upon his breast. +That strange wild light upon the face, as if the pains at the +heart were flickering up through the flesh—where had I seen +it? For a moment when, in Switzerland, my father bared his +bosom to me, that ancestral flame had flashed up into his dull +lineaments. But upon the picture of ‘The Sibyl’ +in the portrait-gallery that illumination was perpetual!</p> +<p>‘It is merely my own reflex in a looking-glass,’ I +exclaimed.</p> +<p>Without knowing it I had slung the cross round my neck.</p> +<p>And then Sinfi Lovell’s voice seemed murmuring in <a +name="page360"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 360</span>my ears, +‘Fenella Stanley’s dead and dust, and that’s +why she can make you put that cross in your feyther’s tomb, +and she will, she will.’</p> +<p>I turned the cross round: the front of it was now next to my +skin. Sharp as needles were those diamond and ruby points +as I sat and gazed in the glass. Slowly a sensation arose +on my breast, of pain that was a pleasure wild and new. I +was feeling the facets. But the tears trickling down, salt, +through my moustache were tears of laughter; for Sinfi Lovell +seemed again murmuring, ‘For good or for ill, you must dig +deep to bury your daddy.’ . . .</p> +<p>What thoughts and what sensations were mine as I sat there, +pressing the sharp stones into my breast, thinking of her to whom +the sacred symbol had come, not as a blessing, but as a +curse—what agonies were mine as I sat there sobbing the one +word ‘Winnie’—could be understood by myself +alone, the latest blossom of the passionate blood that for +generations had brought bliss and bale to the Aylwins. . . .</p> +<p>I cannot tell what I felt and thought, but only what I +did. And while I did it my reason was all the time scoffing +at my heart (for whose imperious behoof the wild, mad things I am +about to record were done)—scoffing, as an Asiatic +malefactor will sometimes scoff at the executioner whose pitiless +and conquering saw is severing his bleeding body in twain. +I arose and murmured ironically to Fenella Stanley as I wrapped +the cross in a handkerchief and placed it in a hand-valise: +‘Secrecy is the first thing for us sacrilegists to +consider, dear Sibyl, in placing a valuable jewel in a tomb in a +deserted church. To take any one into our confidence would +be impossible; we must go alone. But to open the tomb and +close it again, and leave no trace of what <a +name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 361</span>has been +done, will require all our skill. And as burglars’ +jemmies are not on open sale we must buy, on our way to the +railway-station, screw-drivers, chisels, a hammer, and a lantern; +for who should know better than you, dear Sibyl, that the palace +of Nin-ki-gal is dark.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But after all I am unable to express any opinion worth +expressing upon the chief point which would decide the question +as to whether the imagination at work in ‘Aylwin’ and +‘The Coming of Love’ is lyrical or dramatic, because +I do not know whether, like Henry Aylwin and Percy Aylwin, the +author has a dash of Romany blood in his veins. If he has +not that dash, and I certainly never heard that he has, and +neither Groome’s words in the ‘Bookman’ nor +‘Gypsy Smith’s’ words can be construed into an +expression of opinion on the subject, then I will say with +confidence that his delineation of two English gentleman with an +ancestral Romany strain so like and yet so unlike as Henry Aylwin +and Percy Aylwin could only have been achieved by a wonderful +exercise of absolute vision. It was this that struck the +late Grant Allen so forcibly. On the other hand, if he has +that strain, then, as I have said before, it is not in the story +but in the poem that we must look for the best dramatic character +drawing. On this most interesting subject no one can speak +but himself, and he has not spoken. But here is what he has +said upon the similarity and the contrast between Percy and Henry +Aylwin:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Certain parts of ‘The Coming of +Love’ were written about the same time as +‘Aylwin.’ The two Aylwins, Henry and Percy, +were then very distinct in my own mind; they are very distinct +now. And I confess that the possibility of their being +confounded with each other <a name="page362"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 362</span>had never occurred to me. A +certain similarity between the two there must needs be, seeing +that the blood of the same Romany ancestress, Fenella Stanley, +flows in the veins of both. I say there must needs be this +similarity, because the ancestress was Romany. For, without +starting the inquiry here as to whether or not the Romanies as a +race are superior or inferior to all or any of the great European +races among which they move, I will venture to affirm that in the +Romanies the mysterious energy which the evolutionists call +‘the prepotency of transmission’ in races is +specially strong—so strong, indeed, that evidences of +Romany blood in a family may be traced down for several +generations. It is inevitable, therefore, that in each of +the descendants of Fenella Stanley the form taken by the +love-passion should show itself in kindred ways. But the +reader who will give a careful study to the characters of Henry +and Percy Aylwin will come to the conclusion, I think, that the +similarity between the two is observable in one aspect of their +characters only. The intensity of the love-passion in each +assumes a spiritualizing and mystical form.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +363</span>Chapter XXII<br /> +A STORY WITH TWO HEROINES</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> thing seems clear to me: having +fully intended to make Winifred the heroine of +‘Alwyn’ round whom the main current of interest +should revolve, the author failed to do so. And the reason +of his failure is that Winifred has to succumb to the superior +vitality of Sinfi’s commanding figure. For the +purpose of telling the story of Winifred and bringing out her +character he conceived and introduced this splendid descendant of +Fenella Stanley, and then found her, against his will, growing +under his hand until, at last, she pushed his own beloved heroine +off her pedestal, and stood herself for all time. Never did +author love his heroine as Mr. Watts-Dunton loves Winifred, and +there is nothing so curious in all fiction as the way in which he +seems at times to resent Sinfi’s dominance over the Welsh +heroine; and this explains what readers have sometimes said about +his ‘unkindness to Sinfi.’</p> +<p>It is quite certain that on the whole Sinfi is the +reader’s heroine. When Madox Brown read the story in +manuscript, he became greatly enamoured of Sinfi, and talked +about her constantly. It was the same with Mr. Swinburne, +who says that ‘Aylwin’ is the only novel he ever read +in manuscript, and found it as absorbing as if he were reading it +in type. Mr. George Meredith in a letter +said:—“I am in love with Sinfi. Nowhere can +fiction <a name="page364"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +364</span>give us one to match her, not even the +‘Kriegspiel’ heroine, who touched me to the +deeps. Winifred’s infancy has infancy’s +charm. The young woman is taking. But all my heart +has gone to Sinfi. Of course it is part of her character +that her destiny should point to the glooms. The sun comes +to me again in her conquering presence. I could talk of her +for hours. The book has this defect,—it leaves in the +mind a cry for a successor.” And the author of +‘Kriegspiel’ himself, F. H. Groome, accepts Sinfi as +the true heroine of the story. “In Sinfi +Lovell,” says he, “Mr. Watts-Dunton. would have +scored a magnificent success had he achieved nothing more than +this most splendid figure—supremely clever but utterly +illiterate, eloquent but ungrammatical, heroic but altogether +womanly. Winifred is good, and so too is Henry Aylwin +himself, and so are many of the minor characters (the mother, for +instance, the aunt, and Mrs. Gudgeon), but it is as the tragedy +of Sinfi’s sacrifice that ‘Aylwin’ should take +its place in literature.” Yes, it seems cruel to tell +the author this, but Sinfi, and not Winifred, with all her charm, +is evidently the favourite of his English public. That +admirable novelist, Mr. Richard Whiteing, said in the +‘Daily News’ that ‘Sinfi Lovell is one of the +most finished studies of its type and kind in all romantic +literature.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p364b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Sinfi Lovell and Pharaoh. (From a Painting at ‘The +Pines.’)" +title= +"Sinfi Lovell and Pharaoh. (From a Painting at ‘The +Pines.’)" +src="images/p364s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>I have somewhere seen Sinfi compared with Isopel +Berners. In the first place, while Sinfi is the crowning +type of the Romany chi, Isopel is, as the author has pointed out, +the type of the ‘Anglo-Saxon road girl’ with a +special antagonism to Romany girls. Grand as is the +character of Borrow’s Isopel Berners, she is not in the +least like Sinfi Lovell. And I may add that she is not +really like any other of the heroic women who figure in Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s gallery of noble women. <a +name="page365"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 365</span>It is, +however, interesting here to note that Mr. Watts-Dunton has a +special sympathy with women of this heroic type and a special +strength of hand in delineating them. There is nothing in +them of Isopel’s hysterical tears. Once only does +Sinfi, in the nobility of her affection for Aylwin, yield to +weakness. Mr. Watts-Dunton’s sympathy with this kind +of woman is apparent in his eulogy of +‘Shirley’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Note that it is not enough for the ideal +English girl to be beautiful and healthy, brilliant and +cultivated, generous and loving: she must be brave, there must be +in her a strain of Valkyrie; she must be of the high blood of +Brynhild, who would have taken Odin himself by the throat for the +man she loved. That is to say, that, having all the various +charms of English women, the ideal English girl must top them all +with that quality which is specially the English man’s, +just as the English hero, the Nelson, the Sydney, having all the +various glories of other heroes, must top them all with that +quality which is specially the English +woman’s—tenderness. What we mean is, that there +is a symmetry and a harmony in these matters; that just as it was +an English sailor who said, ‘Kiss me, Hardy,’ when +dying on board the ‘Victory’—just as it was an +English gentleman who on the burning ‘Amazon,’ stood +up one windy night, naked and blistered, to make of himself a +living screen between the flames and his young wife; so it was an +Englishwoman who threw her arms round that fire-screen, and +plunged into the sea; and an Englishwoman who, when bitten by a +dog, burnt out the bite from her beautiful arm with a red-hot +poker, and gave special instructions how she was to be smothered +when hydrophobia should set in.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page366"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 366</span>But +Mr. Watts-Dunton himself, in his sonnet, ‘Brynhild on +Sigurd’s Funeral Pyre,’ so powerfully illustrated by +Mr. Byam Shaw, has given us in fourteen lines a picture of +feminine courage and stoicism that puts even Charlotte +Brontë’s picture of Shirley in the shade:—</p> +<blockquote><p>With blue eyes fixed on joy and sorrow past,<br /> + Tall Brynhild stands on Sigurd’s funeral +pyre;<br /> + She stoops to kiss his mouth, though forks of +fire<br /> +Rise fighting with the reek and wintry blast;<br /> +She smiles, though earth and sky are overcast<br /> + With shadow of wings that shudder of Asgard’s +ire;<br /> + She weeps, but not because the gods conspire<br /> +To quell her soul and break her heart at last.</p> +<p>“Odin,” she cries, “it is for gods to +droop!—<br /> + Heroes! we still have man’s all-sheltering +tomb,<br /> + Where cometh peace at last, whate’er may +come:<br /> +Fate falters, yea, the very Norns shall stoop<br /> +Before man’s courage, naked, bare of hope,<br /> + Standing against all Hell and Death and Doom.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Rhona Boswell, too, under all her playful humour, is of this +strain, as we see in that sonnet on ‘Kissing the +Maybuds’ in ‘The Coming of Love’ (given on page +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page406">406</a></span> of +this book).</p> +<p>As Groome’s remarks upon ‘Aylwin’ are in +many ways of special interest, I will for a moment digress from +the main current of my argument, and say a few words about +it. Of course as the gypsies figure so largely in this +story, there were very few writers competent to review it from +the Romany point of view. Leland was living when it +appeared, but he was residing on the Continent; moreover, at his +age, and engrossed as he was, it was not likely that he would +undertake to review it. There was another Romany scholar, +spoken of with enthusiasm by Groome—I allude to <a +name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>Mr. +Sampson, of Liverpool, who has since edited Borrow’s +‘Romany Rye’ for Messrs. Methuen, and who is said to +know more of Welsh Romany than any Englishman ever knew +before. At that time, however, he was almost unknown. +Finally, there was Groome himself, whose articles in the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ and +‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia,’ had proclaimed +him to be the greatest living gypsologist. The editor of +the ‘Bookman,’ being anxious to get a review of the +book from the most competent writer he could find, secured Groome +himself. I can give only a few sentences from the +review. Groome, it will be seen, does not miss the +opportunity of flicking in his usual satirical manner the +omniscience of some popular novelists:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Novelty and truth,” he says, +“are ‘Aylwin’s’ chief characteristics, a +rare combination nowadays. Our older novelists—those +at least still held in remembrance—wrote only of what they +knew, or of what they had painfully mastered. Defoe, +Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, Sterne, Jane Austen, Scott, +Dickens, Thackeray, the Brontës, and George Eliot belong to +the foremost rank of these; for types of the second or the third +may stand Marryat, Lever, Charles Reade, James Grant, Surtees, +Whyte Melville, and Wilkie Collins. But now we have changed +all that; the maximum of achievement seldom rises above school +board nescience. With a few exceptions (one could count +them on the ten fingers) our present-day novelists seem to write +only about things of which they clearly know nothing. One +of the most popular lays the scene of a story in Paris: the Seine +there is tidal, it rolls a murdered corpse upwards. In +another work by her a gambler shoots himself in a cab. +‘I trust,’ cries a friend who has heard the shot, +‘he has missed.’ <a name="page368"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 368</span>‘No,’ says a second +friend, ‘he was a dead shot.’ Mr. X. writes a +realistic novel about betting. It is crammed with weights, +acceptances, and all the rest of it; but, alas! on an early page +a servant girl wins 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> at 7 to 1. Mrs. +Y. takes her heroine to a Scottish deer-forest: it is full of +primeval oaks. Mrs. Z. sends her hero out +deerstalking. Following a hill-range, he sights a stag upon +the opposite height, fires at it, and kills his benefactor, who +is strolling below in the glen. And Mr. Ampersand in his +masterpiece shows up the littleness of the Establishment: his +ritualistic church presents the inconceivable conjunction of the +Ten Commandments and a gorgeous rood-screen. I have drawn +upon memory for these six examples, but subscribers to +Mudie’s should readily recognize the books I mean; they +have sold by thousands on thousands. ‘Aylwin’ +is not such as these. There is much in it of the country, +of open-air life, of mountain scenery, of artistic fellowship, of +Gypsydom; it might be called the novel of the two +Bohemias.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Many readers have expressed the desire to know something about +the prototypes of Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell. The +following words from the Introduction to the 20th edition (called +the ‘Snowdon Edition’) may therefore be read with +interest:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Although Borrow belonged to a different +generation from mine, I enjoyed his intimate friendship in his +later years—during the time when he lived in Hereford +Square. When, some seven or eight years ago, I brought out +an edition of ‘Lavengro,’ I prefaced that delightful +book by a few desultory remarks upon Borrow’s gypsy +characters. On that occasion I gave a slight sketch of the +most remarkable ‘Romany Chi’ that had ever been met +with in the part of East Anglia known to Borrow and +myself—Sinfi <a name="page369"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +369</span>Lovell. I described her playing on the +crwth. I discussed her exploits as a boxer, and I +contrasted her in many ways with the glorious Anglo-Saxon +road-girl Isopel Berners.</p> +<p>Since the publication of ‘Aylwin’ and ‘The +Coming of Love’ I have received very many letters from +English and American readers inquiring whether ‘the Gypsy +girl described in the introduction to “Lavengro” is +the same as the Sinfi Lovell of “Aylwin,” and also +whether ‘the Rhona Boswell that figures in the prose story +is the same as the Rhona of “The Coming of +Love?”’ The evidence of the reality of Rhona so +impressed itself upon the reader that on the appearance of +Rhona’s first letter in the ‘Athenæum,’ +where the poem was printed in fragments, I got among other +letters one from the sweet poet and adorable woman Jean Ingelow, +who was then very ill,—near her death indeed,—urging +me to tell her whether Rhona’s love-letter was not a +versification of a real letter from a real gypsy to her +lover. As it was obviously impossible for me to answer the +queries individually, I take this opportunity of saying that the +Sinfi of ‘Aylwin’ and the Sinfi described in my +introduction to ‘Lavengro’ are one and the same +character—except that the story of the child Sinfi’s +weeping for the ‘poor dead Gorgios’ in the +churchyard, given in the Introduction, is really told by the +gypsies, not of Sinfi, but of Rhona Boswell. Sinfi is the +character alluded to in the now famous sonnet describing +‘the walking lord of gypsy lore,’ Borrow; by his most +intimate friend, Dr. Gordon Hake.</p> +<p>Now that so many of the gryengroes (horse-dealers), who form +the aristocracy of the Romany race, have left England for +America, it is natural enough that to some readers of +‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love,’ my <a +name="page370"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 370</span>pictures of +Romany life seem a little idealized. The +‘Times,’ in a kindly notice of ‘The Coming of +Love,’ said that the kind of gypsies there depicted are a +very interesting people, ‘unless the author has flattered +them unduly.’ Those who best knew the gypsy women of +that period will be the first to aver that I have not flattered +them unduly.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is Winifred who shares, not only with Henry Aylwin, but +also with the author himself, that love of the wind which he +revealed in the ‘Athenæum’ many years before +‘Aylwin’ was published. I may quote this +passage in praise of the wind as an example of the way in which +his imaginative work and his critical work are often +interwoven:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“There is no surer test of genuine nature +instinct than this. Anybody can love sunshine. No +people had less of the nature instinct than the Romans, but they +could enjoy the sun; they even took their solaria or sun-baths, +and gave them to their children. And, if it may be said +that no Roman loved the wind, how much more may this be said of +the French! None but a born child of the tent could ever +have written about the winds of heaven as Victor Hugo has written +in ‘Les Travailleurs de la Mer,’ as though they were +the ministers of Ahriman. ‘From Ormuzd, not from +Ahriman, ye come.’ And here, indeed, is the +difference between the two nationalities. Love of the wind +has made England what she is; dread of the wind has greatly +contributed to make France what she is. The winds are the +breathings of the Great Mother. Under the ‘olden +spell’ of dumbness, nature can yet speak to us by her +winds. It is they that express her every mood, and, if her +mood is rough at times, her <a name="page371"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 371</span>heart is kind. This is why the +true child of the open-air—never mind how much he may +suffer from the wind—loves it, loves it as much when it +comes and ‘takes the ruffian billows by the top’ to +the peril of his life, as when it comes from the sweet +South. In the wind’s most boisterous moods, such as +those so splendidly depicted by Dana in the doubling of Cape +Horn, there is an exhilaration, a fierce delight, in struggling +with it. It is delightful to read Thoreau when he writes +about the wind, and that which the wind so loves—the +snow.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page372"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +372</span>Chapter XXIII<br /> +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER IN RELIGION</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">And</span> now as to the real inner +meaning of ‘Alwyin,’ about which so much has been +written. “‘Aylwin,’” says Groome, +“is a passionate love-story, with a mystical idée +mère. For the entire dramatic action revolves around +a thought that is coming more and more to the front—the +difference, namely, between a materialistic and a spiritualistic +cosmogony.” And Dr. Nicoll, in his essay on +“The Significance of ‘Aylwin,’” in the +‘Contemporary Review,’ says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Every serious student will see at a glance +that ‘Aylwin’ is a concrete expression of the +author’s criticism of life and literature, and +even—though this must be said with more reserve—a +concrete expression of his theory of the universe. This +theory I will venture to define as an optimistic confronting of +the new cosmogony of growth on which the author has for long +descanted. Throughout all his writings there is evidence of +a mental struggle as severe as George Eliot’s with that +materialistic reading of the universe which seemed forced upon +thinkers when the doctrine of evolution passed from hypothesis to +an accepted theory. Those who have followed Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s writings in the ‘Examiner’ and +in the ‘Athenæum’ must have observed with what +passionate eagerness he insisted <a name="page373"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 373</span>that Darwinism, if properly +understood, would carry us no nearer to materialism than did the +spiritualistic cosmogonies of old, unless it could establish +abiogenesis against biogenesis. As every experiment of +every biologist has failed to do so, a new spiritualist cosmogony +must be taught.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And yet the student of ‘Aylwin’ must bear in mind +that some critics, taking the very opposite view, have said that +its final teaching is not meant to be mystical at all, but +anti-mystical—that what to Philip Aylwin and his disciples +seems so mystical is all explained by the operation of natural +laws. This theory reminds me of a saying of Goethe’s +about the enigmatic nature of all true and great works of +art. I forget the exact words, but they set me thinking +about the chameleon-like iridescence of great poems and +dramas.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>With regard to the fountain-head of all the mysticism of the +story, Philip Aylwin, much has been said. Philip is the +real protagonist of the story—he governs, as I have said, +the entire dramatic action from his grave, and illustrates at +every point Sinfi Lovell’s saying, ‘You must dig deep +to bury your daddy.’ Everything that occurs seems to +be the result of the father’s speculations, and the effect +of them upon other minds like that of his son and that of +Wilderspin.</p> +<p>The appearance of this new epic of spiritual love came at +exactly the right moment—came when a new century was about +to dawn which will throw off the trammels of old modes of +thought. While I am writing these lines Mr. Balfour at the +British Association has been expounding what must be called +‘Aylwinism,’ and (as I shall show in the last chapter +of this book) <a name="page374"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +374</span>saying in other words what Henry Aylwin’s father +said in ‘The Veiled Queen.’ In the preface to +the edition of ‘Aylwin’ in the ‘World’s +Classics’ the author says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The heart-thought of this book being the +peculiar doctrine in Philip Aylwin’s ‘Veiled +Queen,’ and the effect of it upon the fortunes of the hero +and the other characters, the name ‘The Renascence of +Wonder’ was the first that came to my mind when confronting +the difficult question of finding a name for a book that is at +once a love-story and an expression of a creed. But +eventually I decided, and I think from the worldly point of view +wisely, to give it simply the name of the hero.</p> +<p>The important place in the story, however, taken by this +creed, did not escape the most acute and painstaking of the +critics. Madame Galimberti, for instance, in the elaborate +study of the book which she made in the ‘Rivista +d’Italia,’ gave great attention to its central idea; +so did M. Maurice Muret, in the ‘Journal des +Débats’; so did M. Henri Jacottet in ‘La +Semaine Littéraire.’ Mr. Baker, again, in his +recently published ‘Guide to Fiction,’ described +‘Aylwin’ as “an imaginative romance of modern +days, the moral idea of which is man’s attitude in face of +the unknown, or, as the writer puts it, ‘the renascence of +wonder.’” With regard to the phrase itself, in +the introduction to the latest edition of +‘Aylwin’—the twenty-second edition—I made +the following brief reply to certain questions that have been +raised by critics both in England and on the Continent concerning +it. The phrase, I said, ‘The Renascence of +Wonder,’ ‘is used to express that great revived +movement of the soul of man which is generally said to have begun +with the poetry of Wordsworth, Scott, Coleridge, and others, and +after many varieties of <a name="page375"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 375</span>expression reached its culmination +in the poems and pictures of Rossetti.’</p> +<p>The painter Wilderspin says to Henry Aylwin, ‘The one +great event of my life has been the reading of “The Veiled +Queen,” your father’s book of inspired wisdom upon +the modern Renascence of Wonder in the mind of man.’ +And further on he says that his own great picture symbolical of +this renascence was suggested by Philip Aylwin’s +vignette. Since the original writing of +‘Aylwin,’ many years ago, I have enlarged upon its +central idea in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ +in the introductory essay to the third volume of +‘Chambers’s Cyclopædia of English +Literature,’ and in other places. Naturally, +therefore, the phrase has been a good deal discussed. Quite +lately Dr. Robertson Nicoll has directed attention to the phrase, +and he has taken it as a text of a remarkable discourse upon the +‘Renascence of Wonder in Religion.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton then quotes Dr. Nicoll’s remarks upon +the Logia recently discovered by the explorers of the Egypt +Fund. He shows how men came to see ‘once more the +marvel of the universe and the romance of man’s +destiny. They became aware of the spiritual world, of the +supernatural, of the lifelong struggle of soul, of the power of +the unseen.’</p> +<p>“The words quoted by Dr. Nicoll might very appropriately +be used as a motto for ‘Aylwin’ and also for its +sequel ‘The Coming of Love: Rhona Boswell’s +Story.’”</p> +<blockquote><p>When ‘Aylwin’ first appeared, the +editor of a well-known journal sent it to me for review. I +read it: never shall I forget that reading. I was in +Ireland at the time—an Irish Wedding Guest at an Irish +Wedding. Now <a name="page376"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +376</span>an Irish Wedding is more joyous than any novel, and +Irish girls are lovelier than any romance. A duel between +Life and Literature! Picture it! Behold the Irish +Wedding Guest spell-bound by a story-teller as cunning as +‘The Ancient Mariner’ himself! He heareth the +bridal music, but Aylwin continueth his tale: he cannot choose +but hear, until ‘The Curse’ of the ‘The +Moonlight Cross’ of the Gnostics is finally expiated, and +Aylwin and Winnie see in the soul of the sunset ‘The +Dukkeripen of the Trushùl,’ the blessed Cross of +Rose and Gold. Amid the ‘merry din’ of the +Irish Wedding Feast the Irish Wedding Guest read and wrote. +And among other lyrical things, he said that ‘since +Shakespeare created Ophelia there has been nothing in literature +so moving, so pathetic, so unimaginably sorrowful as the madness +of Winnie Wynne.’ And he also said that “the +majority of readers will delight in ‘Aylwin’ as the +most wonderful of love stories, but as the years go by an ever +increasing number will find in it the germ of a new religion, a +clarified spiritualism, free from charlatanry, a solace and a +consolation for the soul amid the bludgeonings of circumstance +and the cruelties of fate.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton, when I told him that I was going to write +this book, urged me to moderate my praise and to call into action +the critical power that he was good enough to say that I +possessed. He especially asked me not to repeat the above +words, the warmth of which, he said, might be misconstrued; but +the courage of my opinions I will exercise so long as I write at +all. The ‘newspaper cynics’ that once were and +perhaps still are strong, I have always defied and always will +defy. I am glad to see that there is one point of likeness +between us of the younger generation and the great one to which +Mr. Watts-Dunton and his illustrious friends belong. <a +name="page377"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 377</span>We are not +afraid and we are not ashamed of being enthusiastic. This, +also, I hope, will be a note of the twentieth century.</p> +<p>No doubt mine was a bold prophecy to utter in a rapid review +of a romance, but time has shown that it was not a rash +one. The truth is that the real vogue of +‘Aylwin’ as a message to the soul is only +beginning. Five years have elapsed since the publication of +‘Aylwin,’ and during that time it has, I think, +passed into twenty-four editions in England alone, the latest of +all these editions being the beautiful ‘Arvon +Edition,’ not to speak of the vast issue in sixpenny +form.</p> +<p>I will now quote the words of a very accomplished scholar and +critic upon the inner meaning of ‘Aylwin’ +generally. They appeared in the ‘Saturday +Review’ of October 1904, and they show that the interest in +the book, so far from waning, is increasing:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Public taste has for once made a lucky +shot, and we are only too pleased to be able to put an item to +the credit of an account in taste, where the balance is so +heavily on the wrong side. How ‘Aylwin’ ever +came to be a popular success is hard indeed to understand. +We cannot wonder at the doubts of a popular reception confessed +to by Mr. Watts-Dunton in his dedication of the latest edition to +Mr. Ernest Rhys. How did a book, notable for its poetry and +subtlety of thought, come to appeal to an English public? +That it should have a vogue in Wales was natural; Welsh +patriotism would assure a certain success, though by itself it +could not indeed have made the book the household word it has now +become throughout all Wales. And undoubtedly its Welsh +reception has been the more intelligent; it has been welcomed +there for the qualities that most deserved <a +name="page378"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 378</span>a welcome; +while in England we fear that in many quarters it has rather been +welcomed in spite of them. The average English man and +woman do not like mystery and distrust poetry. They have +little sympathy with the ‘renascence of wonder,’ +which some new passages unfold to us in the Arvon edition, +passages originally omitted for fear of excessive length and now +restored from the MS. We are glad to have them, for they +illustrate further the intellectual motive of the book. We +are of those who do not care to take ‘Aylwin’ merely +as a novel.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>These words remind me of two reviews of ‘Aylwin,’ +one by Mr. W. P. Ryan, a fellow-countryman of mine, which was +published when ‘Aylwin’ first appeared, the other by +an eminent French writer.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The salient impression on the reader is +that he is looking full into deep reaches of life and +spirituality rather than temporary pursuits and mundane +ambitions. In this regard, in its freedom from littleness, +its breadth of life, its exaltation of mood, its sense of serene +issues that do not pass with the changing fashions of a +generation, the book is almost epic.</p> +<p>But ‘Aylwin’ has yet other sides. It is a +vital and seizing story. The girl-heroine is a beautiful +presentment, and the struggle with destiny, when, believing in +the efficacy of a mystic’s curse she loses her reason, and +flies from poignantly idyllic life to harrowing life, her +stricken lover in her wake, is nearly Greek in its intensity and +pathos. The long, long quest through the mountain magic of +Wales, the wandering spheres of Romany-land, and the art-reaches +of London, could only be made real and convincing by triumphant +art. A less expert pioneer <a name="page379"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 379</span>would enlarge his effects in details +that would dissipate their magic; Mr. Watts-Dunton knows that one +inspired touch is worth many uninspired chapters, as Shakespeare +knew that ‘she should have died hereafter.’</p> +<p>Death came on her like an untimely frost,<br /> +Upon the fairest flower of all the field.</p> +<p>or</p> +<p>Childe Rowland to the dark tower came,</p> +<p>is worth an afternoon of emphasis, a night of mystical +elaboration.</p> +<p>Incidentally, the Celtic and Romany types of character reveal +their essence. Here, too, the author preserves the artistic +unities. Delightful as one realizes these characters to be, +full-blooded personalities though they are, it is still their +spirit, and through it the larger spirit of their race, that +shines clearest. Their story is all realistic, and yet it +leaves the flavour of a fairy tale of Regeneration. At +first sight one is inclined to speak of their beautiful kinship +with Nature; but the truth is that Nature and they together are +seen with spiritual eyes; that they and Nature are different but +kindred embodiments of the underlying, all-extending, universal +soul; that Henry’s love, and Winnie’s rapture, and +Snowdon’s magic, and Sinfi’s crwth, and the little +song of y Wydffa, and the glorious mountain dawn are but drops +and notes in a melodic mystic ocean, of which the farthest stars +and the deepest loves are kindred and inevitable +parts—parts of a whole, of whose ministry we hardly know +the elements, yet are cognisant that our highest joy is to feel +in radiant moments that we, too, are part of the harmony. +In idyll, despair or tragedy, the beauty of ‘Aylwin’ +is that always the song of the divine in <a +name="page380"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 380</span>humanity is +beneath it. Everything merges into one consistent, +artistically suggested, spiritual conception of life; love tried, +tortured, finally rewarded as the supreme force utilized to drive +home the intolerable negation and atrophy of materialism; in +Henry’s gnostic father, in the scientific Henry himself, +the Romany Sinfi, Winnie whose nature is a song, Wilderspin who +believes that his model is a heavenly visitant with an immaterial +body, D’Arcy who stands for Rossetti, the end is the same; +and the striking trait is the felicity with which so many +dissimilar personalities, while playing the drama of divergent +actuality to the full, yet realize and illustrate, without +apparent manipulation by the author, the one abiding spiritual +unity.</p> +<p>In execution, ‘Aylwin’ is far above the +accomplished English novel-work of latter years; as a conception +of life it surely transcends all. The ‘schools’ +we have known: the realistic, the romantic, the quasi-historical, +the local, seem but parts of the whole when their motives are +measured with the idea that permeates this novel. They take +drear or gallant roads through limited lands; it rises like a +stately hill from which a world is clearer, above and beyond +whose limits there are visions, Voices, and the +verities.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With equal eloquence M. Jacottet on the same day wrote about +“Aylwin” in ‘La Semaine +Littéraire’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The central idea of this poetic book is +that of love stronger than death, love elevating the soul to a +mystical conception of the universe. It is a singular fact +that at the moment when England, intoxicated with her successes, +seems to have no room for thought except with regard to her fleet +and her commerce, and allows herself to be dazzled by dreams of +universal empire, the <a name="page381"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 381</span>book in vogue should be Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s romance—the most idealistic, the +farthest removed from the modern Anglo-Saxon conception of life +that he could possibly conceive. But this fact has often +been observable in literary history. Is not the true charm +of letters that of giving to the soul respite from the +brutalities of contemporary events?”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page382"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +382</span>Chapter XXIV<br /> +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER IN HUMOUR</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> character of Mrs. Gudgeon in +‘Aylwin’ stands as entirely alone among humourous +characters as does Sancho Panza, Falstaff, Mrs. Quickly or Mrs. +Partridge. In my own review of ‘Aylwin’ I thus +noted the entirely new kind of humour which characterizes +it:—“To one aspect of this book we have not yet +alluded, namely, its humour. Whimsical Mrs. Gudgeon, the +drunken virago who pretends that Winnie is her daughter, is +inimitable, with her quaint saying: ‘I shall die +a-larfin’, they say in Primrose Court, and so I +shall—unless I die a-crying.’” Few +critics have done justice to Mrs. Gudgeon, although the +‘Times’ said: ‘In Mrs. Gudgeon, one of his +characters, the author has accomplished the feat of creating what +seems to be a new comic figure,’ and the ‘Saturday +Review’ singled her out as being the triumph of the +book”. Could she really have been a real +character? Could there ever have existed in the London of +the mid-Victorian period a real flesh and blood costermonger so +rich in humour that her very name sheds a glow of laughter over +every page in which it appears? According to Mr. Hake, she +was suggested by a real woman, and this makes me almost lament my +arrival in London too late to make her acquaintance. +“With regard to the most original character of the +story,” says Mr. Hake, “those who knew +Clement’s Inn, where I myself once resided, and +Lincoln’s Inn Fields, will be able at once to identify Mrs. +<a name="page383"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 383</span>Gudgeon, +who lived in one of the streets running into Clare Market. +Her business was that of night coffee-stall keeper. At one +time, I believe—but I am not certain about this—she +kept a stall on the Surrey side of Waterloo Bridge, and it might +have been there that, as I have been told, her portrait was drawn +for a specified number of early breakfasts by an unfortunate +artist who sank very low, but had real ability. Her +constant phrase was ‘I shall die +o’-laughin’—I know I shall!’ On +account of her extraordinary gift of repartee, and her +inexhaustible fund of wit and humour, she was generally supposed +to be an Irishwoman. But she was not; she was cockney to +the marrow. Recluse as Rossetti was in his later years, he +had at one time been very different, and could bring himself in +touch with the lower orders of London in a way such as was only +known to his most intimate friends. With all her impudence, +and I may say insolence, Mrs. Gudgeon was a great favourite with +the police, who were the constant butts of her chaff.” <a +name="citation383"></a><a href="#footnote383" +class="citation">[383]</a> But, of course, this interesting +costermonger could have only suggested our unique Mrs. +Gudgeon.</p> +<p>She shows that it is possible to paint a low-class humourist +as rich in the new cosmic humour as any one of Dickens’s is +rich in the old terrene humour, and yet without one Dickensian +touch. The difficulty of achieving this feat is manifested +every day, both in novels and on the stage. Until Mrs. +Gudgeon appeared I thought that Dickens had made it as impossible +for another writer to paint humourous pictures of low-class +London women as Swinburne has made it impossible for another poet +to write in anapæsts. But there is in all that Mrs. +Gudgeon says or does a profundity of humour so much deeper than +<a name="page384"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 384</span>the +humour of Mrs. Gamp, that it wins her a separate niche in our +gallery of humourous women. The chief cause of the delight +which Mrs. Gudgeon gives me is that she illustrates Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s theory of absolute humour as distinguished +from relative humour—a theory which delighted me in those +boyish days in Ireland, to which I have already alluded. I +have read his words on this theme so often that I think I could +repeat them as fluently as a nursery rhyme. In their +original form I remember that the word ‘caricature’ +took the place of the phrase ‘relative humour.’ +I do not think there is anything in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +writings so suggestive and so profound, and to find in reading +‘Aylwin’ that they were suggested to him by a real +living character was exhilarating indeed.</p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton’s theory of humour is one of his most +original generalizations, and it is vitally related both to his +theory of poetry and to his generalization of generalizations, +‘The Renascence of Wonder.’ I think Mrs. +Gudgeon is a cockney Anacharsis in petticoats. The Scythian +philosopher, it will be remembered, when jesters were taken to +him, could not be made to smile, but afterwards, when a monkey +was brought to him, broke out into a fit of laughter and said, +‘Now this is laughable by nature, the other by +art.’ I will now quote the essay on absolute and +relative humour:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Anarcharsis, who found the humour of Nature +alone laughable, was the absolute humourist as distinguished from +the relative humourist, who only finds food for laughter in the +distortions of so-called humourous art. The quality which I +have called absolute humour is popularly supposed to be the +characteristic and special temper of the English. The +bustling, money <a name="page385"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +385</span>grubbing, rank-worshipping British slave of convention +claims to be the absolute humourist! It is very +amusing. The temper of absolute humour, on the contrary, is +the temper of Hotei, the fat Japanese god of ‘contentment +with things as they be,’ who, when the children wake him up +from his sleep in the sunshine, and tickle and tease him, and +climb over his ‘thick rotundity of belly,’ +good-naturedly bribes them to leave him in peace by telling them +fairy stories and preaching humourous homilies upon the blessings +of contentment, the richness of Nature’s largess, the +exceeding cheapness of good things, such as sunshine and sweet +rains and the beautiful white cherry blossoms on the mountain +side. Between this and relative humour how wide is the +gulf!</p> +<p>That an apprehension of incongruity is the basis of both +relative and absolute humour is no doubt true enough; but while +in the case of relative humour it is the incongruity of some +departure from the normal, in the case of absolute humour it is +the sweet incongruity of the normal itself. Relative humour +laughs at the breach of the accustomed laws of nature and the +conventional laws of man, which laws it accepts as final. +Absolute humour (comparing them unconsciously with some ideal +standard of its own, or with that ideal or noumenal or spiritual +world behind the cosmic show) sees the incongruity of those very +laws themselves—laws which are the relative +humourist’s standard. Absolute humour, in a word, is +based on metaphysics—relative humour on experience. A +child can become a relative humourist by adding a line or two to +the nose of Wellington, or by reversing the nose of the Venus de +Medici. The absolute humourist has so long been saying to +himself, ‘What a whimsical idea is the human nose!’ +that he smiles the smile of Anarcharsis at the child’s +laughter <a name="page386"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +386</span>on seeing it turned upside down. So with +convention and its codes of etiquette—from the pompous +harlequinade of royalty—the ineffable gingerbread of an +aristocracy of names without office or culture, down to the +Draconian laws of Philistia and bourgeois respectability; +whatever is a breach of the local laws of the game of social +life, whether the laws be those of a village pothouse or of +Mayfair; whether it displays an ignorance of matters of familiar +knowledge, these are the quarry of the relative humourist. +The absolute humourist, on the other hand, as we see in the +greatest masters of absolute humour, is so perpetually +overwhelmed with the irony of the entire game, cosmic and human, +from the droll little conventions of the village pothouse to +those of London, of Paris, of New York, of Pekin—up to the +apparently meaningless dance of the planets round the +sun—up again to that greater and more meaningless waltz of +suns round the centre—he is so delighted with the delicious +foolishness of wisdom, the conceited ignorance of knowledge, the +grotesqueness even of the standard of beauty itself; above all, +with the whim of the absolute humourist Nature, amusing herself, +not merely with her monkeys, her flamingoes, her penguins, her +dromedaries, but with these more whimsical creatures +still—these ‘bipeds’ which, though +‘featherless’ are proved to be not ‘plucked +fowls’; these proud, high-thinking organisms—stomachs +with heads, arms, and legs as useful appendages—these +countless little ‘me’s,’ so all alike and yet +so unlike, each one feeling, knowing itself to be <i>the</i> me, +the only true original me, round whom all other <i>me’s</i> +revolve—so overwhelmed is the absolute humourist with the +whim of all this—with the incongruity, that is, of the +normal itself—with the ‘almighty joke’ of the +Cosmos as it is—that he sees nothing ‘funny’ in +departures <a name="page387"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +387</span>from laws which to him are in themselves the very +quintessence of fun. And he laughs the laugh of Rabelais +and of Sterne; for he feels that behind this rich incongruous +show there must be a beneficent Showman. He knows that +although at the top of the constellation sits Circumstance, +Harlequin and King, bowelless and blind, shaking his starry cap +and bells, there sits far above even Harlequin himself another +Being greater than he—a Being who because he has given us +the delight of laughter must be good, and who in the end will +somewhere set all these incongruities right—who will, some +day, show us the meaning of that which now seems so +meaningless. With Charles Lamb he feels, in short, that +humour ‘does not go out with life’; and in answer to +Elia’s question, ‘Can a ghost laugh?’ he says, +‘Assuredly, if there be ghosts at all,’ for he is as +unable as Soame Jenyns himself to imagine that even the seraphim +can be perfectly happy without a perception of the ludicrous.</p> +<p>If this, then, is the absolute humourist as distinguished from +the relative humourist, his type is not Dickens or Cruikshank, +but Anacharsis, or, better still, that old Greek who died of +laughter from seeing a donkey eat, and who, perhaps, is the only +man who could have told us what the superlative feeling of +absolute humour really is, though he died of a sharp and sudden +recognition of the humour of the bodily functions merely. +And naturally what is such a perennial source of amusement to the +absolute humourist he gets to love. Mere representation, +therefore, is with him the be-all and the end-all of art. +Exaggeration offends him. Nothing to him is so rich as the +real. He pronounces Tennyson’s ‘Northern +Farmer’ or the public-house scene in ‘Silas +Marner’ to be more humourous than the trial scene in +‘Pickwick.’ Wilkie’s realism he finds +more humourous <a name="page388"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +388</span>than the funniest cartoon in the funniest comic +journal. And this mood is as much opposed to satire as to +relative humour. Of all moods the rarest and the +finest—requiring, indeed, such a ‘blessed mixing of +the juices’ as nature cannot every day achieve—it is +the mood of each one of those fatal ‘Paradis +Artificiels,’ the seeking of which has devastated the human +race: the mood of Christopher Sly, of Villon; of Walter Mapes in +the following verse:—</p> +<p>Meum est propositum in taberna mori,<br /> +Vinum sit appositum morientis ori,<br /> +Ut dicant cum venerint angelorum chori,<br /> +Deus sit propitius huic potatori.”</p> +<p>Now it is because Mrs. Gudgeon is the very type of the +absolute humourist as defined in this magnificent fugue of prose, +and the only example of absolute humour which has appeared in +prose fiction, that she is to me a fount of esoteric and +fastidious joy. If I were asked what character in +‘Aylwin’ shows the most unmistakable genius, I should +reply, ‘Mrs. Gudgeon! and again, Mrs. +Gudgeon!’”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page389"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +389</span>Chapter XXV<br /> +GORGIOS AND ROMANIES</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> publication of ‘The +Coming of Love’ in book form preceded that of +‘Aylwin’ by about a year, but it had been appearing +piecemeal in the ‘Athenæum’ since 1882.</p> +<blockquote><p>“So far as regards Rhona Boswell’s +story,” says Mr. Watts-Dunton, “‘The Coming of +Love’ is a sequel to ‘Aylwin.’ If the +allusions to Rhona’s lover, Percy Aylwin, in the prose +story have been, in some degree, misunderstood by some +readers—if there is any danger of Henry Aylwin, the hero of +the novel, being confounded with Percy Aylwin, the hero of this +poem—it only shows how difficult it is for the poet or the +novelist (who must needs see his characters from the concave side +only) to realize that it is the convex side only which he can +present to his reader.</p> +<p>The fact is that the motive of +‘Aylwin’—dealing only as it does with that +which is elemental and unchangeable in man—is of so +entirely poetic a nature that I began to write it in verse. +After a while, however, I found that a story of so many incidents +and complications as the one that was growing under my hand could +only be told in prose. This was before I had written any +prose at all—yes, it is so long ago as that. And +when, afterwards, I began to write criticism, I had (for certain +reasons—important then, but of no importance now) abandoned +the idea of offering the novel to the <a name="page390"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 390</span>outside public at all. Among +my friends it had been widely read, both in manuscript and in +type.</p> +<p>But with regard to Romany women, Henry Aylwin’s feeling +towards them was the very opposite of Percy’s. When, +in speaking of George Borrow some years ago, I made the remark +that between Englishmen of a certain type and gypsy women there +is an extraordinary physical attraction—an attraction which +did not exist between Borrow and the gypsy women with whom he was +brought into contact—I was thinking specially of the +character depicted here under the name of Percy Aylwin. And +I asked then the question—Supposing Borrow to have been +physically drawn with much power towards any woman, could she +possibly have been Romany? Would she not rather have been +of the Scandinavian type?—would she not have been what he +used to call a ‘Brynhild’? From many +conversations with him on this subject, I think she must +necessarily have been a tall blonde of the type of Isopel +Berners—who, by-the-by, was much more a portrait of a +splendid East-Anglian road-girl than is generally imagined. +And I think, besides, that Borrow’s sympathy with the +Anglo-Saxon type may account for the fact that, notwithstanding +his love of the free and easy economies of life among the better +class of Gryengroes, his gypsy women are all what have been +called ‘scenic characters.’</p> +<p>When he comes to delineate a heroine, she is the superb Isopel +Berners—that is to say, she is physically (and indeed +mentally, too), the very opposite of the Romany chi. It was +here, as I happen to know, that Borrow’s sympathies were +with Henry Aylwin far more than with Percy Aylwin.</p> +<p>The type of the Romany chi, though very delightful to Henry +Aylwin as regards companionship, had no physical <a +name="page391"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 391</span>attractions +for him, otherwise the witchery of the girl here called Rhona +Boswell, whom he knew as a child long before Percy Aylwin knew +her, must surely have eclipsed such charms as Winifred Wynne or +any other winsome ‘Gorgie’ could possess. On +the other hand, it would, I believe, have been impossible for +Percy Aylwin to be brought closely and long in contact with a +Romany girl like Sinfi Lovell and remain untouched by those +unique physical attractions of hers—attractions that made +her universally admired by the best judges of female beauty as +being the most splendid ‘face-model’ of her time, and +as being in form the grandest woman ever seen in the +studios—attractions that upon Henry Aylwin seem to have +made almost no impression.</p> +<p>There is no accounting for this, as there is no accounting for +anything connected with the mysterious witchery of sex. And +again, the strong inscrutable way in which some gypsy girls are +drawn towards a ‘Tarno Rye’ (as a young English +gentleman is called), is quite inexplicable. Some have +thought—and Borrow was one of them—that it may arise +from that infirmity of the Romany Chal which causes the girls to +‘take their own part’ without appealing to their +men-companions for aid—that lack of masculine chivalry +among the men of their own race.</p> +<p>And now for a word or two upon a matter in connection with +‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ which +interests me more deeply. Some of those who have been +specially attracted towards Sinfi Lovell have had misgivings, I +find, as to whether she is not an idealization, an impossible +Romany chi, and some of those who have been specially attracted +towards Rhona Boswell have had the same misgivings as to her.</p> +<p>One of the great racial specialities of the Romany <a +name="page392"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 392</span>is the +superiority of the women to the men. For it is not merely +in intelligence, in imagination, in command over language, in +comparative breadth of view regarding the Gorgio world that the +Romany women (in Great Britain, at least) leave the men far +behind. In everything that goes to make nobility of +character this superiority is equally noticeable. To +imagine a gypsy hero is, I will confess, rather difficult. +Not that the average male gypsy is without a certain amount of +courage, but it soon gives way, and, in a conflict between a +gypsy and an Englishman, it always seems as though ages of +oppression have damped the virility of Romany stamina.</p> +<p>Although some of our most notable prize-fighters have been +gypsies, it used to be well known, in times when the ring was +fashionable, that a gypsy could not always be relied upon to +‘take punishment’ with the stolid indifference of an +Englishman or a negro, partly, perhaps, because his more +highly-strung nervous system makes him more sensitive to +pain.</p> +<p>The courage of a gypsy woman, on the other hand, has passed +into a proverb; nothing seems to daunt it. This superiority +of the women to the men extends to everything, unless, perhaps, +we except that gift of music for which the gypsies as a race are +noticeable. With regard to music, however, even in Eastern +Europe (Russia alone excepted), where gypsy music is so universal +that, according to some writers, every Hungarian musician is of +Romany extraction, it is the men, and not, in general, the women, +who excel. Those, however, who knew Sinfi Lovell may think +with me that this state of things may simply be the result of +opportunity and training.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page393"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +393</span>Chapter XXVI<br /> +‘THE COMING OF LOVE’</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> my article on Mr. Watts-Dunton +in Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature’ I devoted most of my space to ‘The Coming +of Love.’ I put the two great romantic poems +‘The Coming of Love’ and ‘Christmas at the +“Mermaid”’ far above everything he has +done. I think I see both in the conception and in the +execution of these poems the promise of immortality—if +immortality can be predicted of any poems of our time. In +reading them one remembers in a flash Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +own noble words about the poetic impulse:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“In order to produce poetry the soul must +for the time being have reached that state of exaltation, that +state of freedom from self-consciousness, depicted in the +lines—</p> +<p>I started once, or seemed to start, in pain<br /> + Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak,<br /> +As when a great thought strikes along the brain<br /> + And flushes all the cheek.</p> +<p>Whatsoever may be the poet’s ‘knowledge of his +art,’ into this mood he must always pass before he can +write a truly poetic line. For, notwithstanding all that we +have said and are going to say upon poetry as a fine art, it is +in the deepest sense of the word an ‘inspiration’ +indeed. No man can write a line of genuine poetry <a +name="page394"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 394</span>without +having been ‘born again’ (or, as the true rendering +of the text says, ‘born from above’); and then the +mastery over those highest reaches of form which are beyond the +ken of the mere versifier comes to him as a result of the +change. Hence, with all Mrs. Browning’s metrical +blemishes, the splendour of her metrical triumphs at her +best.</p> +<p>For what is the deep distinction between poet and +proseman? A writer may be many things besides a poet; he +may be a warrior like Æschylus, a man of business like +Shakespeare, a courtier like Chaucer, or a cosmopolitan +philosopher like Goethe; but the moment the poetic mood is upon +him all the trappings of the world with which for years he may +perhaps have been clothing his soul—the world’s +knowingness, its cynicism, its self-seeking, its +ambition—fall away, and the man becomes an inspired child +again, with ears attuned to nothing but the whispers of those +spirits from the Golden Age, who, according to Hesiod, haunt and +bless the degenerate earth. What such a man produces may +greatly delight and astonish his readers, yet not so greatly as +it delights and astonishes himself. His passages of pathos +draw no tears so deep or so sweet as those that fall from his own +eyes while he writes; his sublime passages overawe no soul so +imperiously as his own; his humour draws no laughter so rich or +so deep as that stirred within his own breast.</p> +<p>It might almost be said, indeed, that Sincerity and +Conscience, the two angels that bring to the poet the wonders of +the poetic dream, bring him also the deepest, truest delight of +form. It might almost be said that by aid of sincerity and +conscience the poet is enabled to see more clearly than other men +the eternal limits of his own art—to see with Sophocles +that nothing, not even poetry <a name="page395"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 395</span>itself, is of any worth to man, +invested as he is by the whole army of evil, unless it is in the +deepest and highest sense good, unless it comes linking us all +together by closer bonds of sympathy and pity, strengthening us +to fight the foes with whom fate and even nature, the mother who +bore us, sometimes seem in league—to see with Milton that +the high quality of man’s soul which in English is +expressed by the word virtue is greater than even the great poem +he prized, greater than all the rhythms of all the tongues that +have been spoken since Babel—and to see with Shakespeare +and with Shelley that the high passion which in England is called +love is lovelier than all art, lovelier than all the marble +Mercuries that ‘await the chisel of the sculptor’ in +all the marble hills.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The reason why the criticism of the hour does not always give +Mr. Watts-Dunton the place accorded to him by his great +contemporaries is not any lack of generosity: it arises from the +unprecedented, not to say eccentric, way in which his poetry has +reached the public. In this respect alone, apart from its +great originality, ‘The Coming of Love’ is a +curiosity of literature. I know nothing in the least like +the history of this poem. It was written, circulated in +manuscript among the very elite of English letters, and indeed +partly published in the ‘Athenæum,’ very nearly +a quarter of a century ago. I have before alluded to Mrs. +Chandler Moulton’s introduction to Philip Bourke +Marston’s poems, where she says that it was Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s poetry which won for him the friendship of +Tennyson, Rossetti, Morris, and Swinburne. Yet for lustre +after lustre it was persistently withheld from the public; +cenacle after poetic cenacle rose, prospered and faded away, and +still <a name="page396"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +396</span>this poet, who was talked of by all the poets and +called ‘the friend of all the poets,’ kept his work +back until he had passed middle age. Then, at last, owing I +believe to the energetic efforts of Mr. John Lane, who had been +urging the matter for something like five years, he launched a +volume which seized upon the public taste and won a very great +success so far as sales go. It is now in its sixth +edition. There can be no doubt whatever that if the book +had appeared, as it ought to have appeared, at the time it was +written, critics would have classed the poet among his compeers +and he would have come down to the present generation, as +Swinburne has come down, as a classic. But, as I have said, +it is not in the least surprising that, notwithstanding +Rossetti’s intense admiration of the poem, notwithstanding +the fact that Morris intended to print it at the Kelmscott Press, +and notwithstanding the fact that Swinburne, in dedicating the +collected edition of his works to Mr. Watts-Dunton, addresses him +as a poet of the greatest authority—it is only the true +critics who see in the right perspective a poet who has so +perversely neglected his chances. If his time of +recognition has not yet fully come, this generation is not to +blame. The poet can blame only himself, although to judge +by Rossetti’s words, and by the following lines from Dr. +Hake’s ‘New Day,’ he is indifferent to +that:—</p> +<blockquote><p>You tell me life is all too rich and brief,<br /> + Too various, too delectable a game,<br /> +To give to art, entirely or in chief;<br /> + And love of Nature quells the thirst for fame.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The ‘parable poet’ then goes on to give voice to +the opinion, not only of himself, but of most of the great poets +of the mid-Victorian epoch:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +397</span>You who in youth the cone-paved forest sought,<br /> + Musing until the pines to musing fell;<br /> +You who by river-path the witchery caught<br /> + Of waters moving under stress of spell;<br /> +You who the seas of metaphysics crossed,<br /> + And yet returned to art’s consoling +haven—<br /> +Returned from whence so many souls are lost,<br /> + With wisdom’s seal upon your forehead +graven—<br /> +Well may you now abandon learning’s seat,<br /> + And work the ore all seek, not many find;<br /> +No sign-post need you to direct your feet,<br /> + You draw no riches from another’s mind.<br /> +Hail Nature’s coming; bygone be the past;<br /> +Hail her New Day; it breaks for man at last.</p> +<p>Fulfil the new-born dream of Poesy!<br /> + Give her your life in full, she turns from +less—<br /> +Your life in full—like those who did not die,<br /> + Though death holds all they sang in dark duress.<br +/> +You, knowing Nature to the throbbing core,<br /> + You can her wordless prophecies rehearse.<br /> +The murmers others heard her heart outpour<br /> + Swell to an anthem in your richer verse.<br /> +If wider vision brings a wider scope<br /> + For art, and depths profounder for emotion,<br /> +Yours be the song whose master-tones shall ope<br /> + A new poetic heaven o’er earth and ocean.<br +/> +The New Day comes apace; its virgin fame<br /> +Be yours, to fan the fiery soul to flame.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Indeed, he has often said to me: ‘There is a tide in the +affairs of men, and I did not throw myself upon my little tide +until it was too late, and I am not going to repine +now.’ For my part, I have been a student of English +poetry all my life—it is my chief subject of +study—and I predict that when poetic imagination is again +perceived to be the supreme poetic gift, Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +genius will be acclaimed. In respect of <a +name="page398"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 398</span>imaginative +power, apart from the other poetic qualities—‘the +power of seeing a dramatic situation and flashing it upon the +physical senses of the listener,’ none of his +contemporaries have surpassed him.</p> +<p>I have said in print more than once that I, a Celt myself, can +see more Celtic glamour in his poetry than in many of the Celtic +poets of our time. And, if we are to judge by the vogue of +‘The Coming of Love’ and ‘Aylwin’ in +Wales, the Welsh people seem to see it very clearly. Take, +for instance, the sonnet called ‘The Mirrored Stars’ +again, given on page 29. It is impossible for Celtic +glamour to go further than this; and yet it is rarely noted by +critics in discussing the Celtic note in poetry.</p> +<p>In order fully to understand ‘The Coming of Love’ +it is necessary to bear in mind a distinction between the two +kinds of poetry upon which Mr. Watts-Dunton has often +dwelt. “There are,” he tells us, “but two +kinds of poetry, but two kinds of art—that which +interprets, and that which represents. ‘Poetry is +apparent pictures of unapparent realities,’ says the +Eastern mind through Zoroaster; ‘the highest, the only +operation of art is representation (Gestaltung),’ says the +Western mind through Goethe. Both are right.” +Madame Galimberti has called Mr. Watts-Dunton ‘the poet of +the sunrise’: There are richer descriptions of sunrise in +‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ than in +any other writer I know. “Few poets,” Mr. +Watts-Dunton says, “have been successful in painting a +sunrise, for the simple reason that, save through the +bed-curtains, they do not often see one. They think that +all they have to do is to paint a sunset, which they sometimes do +see, and call it a sunrise. They are entirely mistaken, +however; the two phenomena are both <a name="page399"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 399</span>like and unlike. Between the +cloud-pageantry of sunrise and of sunset the difference to the +student of Nature is as apparent as is the difference to the poet +between the various forms of his art.”</p> +<p>‘The Coming of Love’ shows that independence of +contemporary vogues and influences which characterizes all Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s work, whether in verse or prose, whether in +romance or criticism, or in that analysis and exposition of the +natural history of minds about which Sainte Beuve speaks. +It was as a poet that his energies were first exercised, but this +for a long time was known only to his poetical friends. His +criticism came many years afterwards, and, as Rossetti used to +say, ‘his critical work consists of generalizations of his +own experience in the poet’s workshop.’ For +many years he was known only in his capacity as a critic. +James Russell Lowell is reported to have said: ‘Our ablest +critics hitherto have been 18-carat; Theodore Watts goes nearer +the pure article.’ Mr. William Sharp, in his study of +Rossetti, says: ‘In every sense of the word the friendship +thus begun resulted in the greatest benefit to the elder writer, +the latter having greater faith in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +literary judgment than seems characteristic with so dominant and +individual an intellect as that of Rossetti. Although the +latter knew well the sonnet-literature of Italy and England, and +was a much-practised master of the heart’s key himself, I +have heard him on many occasions refer to Theodore Watts as +having still more thorough knowledge on the subject, and as being +the most original sonnet-writer living.’</p> +<p>‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ are +vitally connected with the poet’s peculiar critical +message. Henry Aylwin and Percy Aylwin may be regarded as +the embodiment of his philosophy of life. The very +popularity <a name="page400"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +400</span>of ‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of +Love’ is apt to make readers forget the profundity of the +philosophical thought upon which they are based, although this +profundity has been indicated by such competent critics as Dr. +Robertson Nicoll in the ‘Contemporary Review,’ M. +Maurice Muret in the ‘Journal des Débats,’ and +other thoughtful writers. Upon the inner meaning of the +romance and the poem I have, however, ideas of my own to express, +which are not in full accordance with any previous +criticisms. To me it seems that the two cousins, Henry +Aylwin of the romance, and Percy Aylwin of the poem, are phases +of a modern Hamlet, a Hamlet who has travelled past the pathetic +superstitions of the old cosmogonies to the last milestone of +doubting hope and questioning fear, a Hamlet who stands at the +portals of the outer darkness, gazing with eyes made wistful by +the loss of a beloved woman. In both the romance and the +poem the theme is love at war with death. Mr. Watts-Dunton, +in his preface to the illustrated edition of ‘Aylwin’ +says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It is a story written as a comment on +Love’s warfare with death—written to show that, +confronted as man is every moment by signs of the fragility and +brevity of human life, the great marvel connected with him is not +that his thoughts dwell frequently upon the unknown country +beyond Orion, where the beloved dead are loving us still, but +that he can find time and patience to think upon anything else: a +story written further to show how terribly despair becomes +intensified when a man has lost—or thinks he has +lost—a woman whose love was the only light of his +world—when his soul is torn from his body, as it were, and +whisked off on the wings of the ‘viewless winds’ +right away beyond the farthest star, till <a +name="page401"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 401</span>the +universe hangs beneath his feet a trembling point of twinkling +light, and at last even this dies away and his soul cries out for +help in that utter darkness and loneliness. It was to +depict this phase of human emotion that both ‘Aylwin’ +and ‘The Coming of Love’ were written. They +were missives from the lonely watch-tower of the writer’s +soul, sent out into the strange and busy battle of the +world—sent out to find, if possible, another soul or two to +whom the watcher was, without knowing it, akin. In +‘Aylwin’ the problem is symbolized by the victory of +love over sinister circumstance, whereas in the poem it is +symbolized by a mystical dream of ‘Natura +Benigna.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In ‘The Coming of Love’ Percy Aylwin is a poet and +a sailor, with such an absorbing love for the sea that he has no +room for any other passion; to him an imprisoned seabird is a +sufferer almost more pitiable than any imprisoned man, as will be +seen by the opening section of the poem, ‘Mother +Carey’s Chicken.’ On seeing a storm-petrel in a +cage on a cottage wall near Gypsy Dell, he takes down the cage in +order to release the bird; then, carrying the bird in the cage, +he turns to cross a rustic wooden bridge leading past Gypsy Dell, +when he suddenly comes upon a landsman friend of his, a Romany +Rye, who is just parting from a young gypsy-girl. Gazing at +her beauty, Percy stands dazzled and forgets the petrel. It +is symbolical of the inner meaning of the story that the bird now +flies away through the half-open door. From that moment, +through the magic of love, the land to Percy is richer than the +sea: this ends the first phase of the story. The first kiss +between the two lovers is thus described:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page402"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +402</span>If only in dreams may Man be fully blest,<br /> +Is heaven a dream? Is she I claspt a dream?<br /> +Or stood she here even now where dew-drops gleam<br /> +And miles of furze shine yellow down the West?<br /> +I seem to clasp her still—still on my breast<br /> +Her bosom beats: I see the bright eyes beam.<br /> +I think she kissed these lips, for now they seem<br /> +Scarce mine: so hallowed of the lips they pressed.<br /> +Yon thicket’s breath—can that be eglantine?<br /> +Those birds—can they be Morning’s choristers?<br /> +Can this be Earth? Can these be banks of furze?<br /> +Like burning bushes fired of God they shine!<br /> +I seem to know them, though this body of mine<br /> +Passed into spirit at the touch of hers!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Percy stays with the gypsies, and the gypsy-girl, Rhona, +teaches him Romany. This arouses the jealousy of a gypsy +rival—Herne the ‘Scollard.’ Percy +Aylwin’s family afterwards succeeds in separating him from +her, and he is again sent to sea. While cruising among the +coral islands he receives the letter from Rhona which paints her +character with unequalled vividness:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">RHONA’S +LETTER</p> +</blockquote> +<table> +<tr> +<td><blockquote><p>On Christmas Eve I seed in dreams the day</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +<td><blockquote><p> </p> +</blockquote> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><blockquote><p>When Herne the Scollard come and said to +me,</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +<td><blockquote><p> </p> +</blockquote> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><blockquote><p>He s off, that rye o yourn, gone clean +away</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +<td><blockquote><p style="text-align: center">gentleman</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><blockquote><p>Till swallow-time; hes left this letter: +see.</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +<td><blockquote><p> </p> +</blockquote> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><blockquote><p>In dreams I heerd the bee and grasshopper,</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +<td><blockquote><p> </p> +</blockquote> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><blockquote><p>Like on that mornin, buz in Rington +Hollow,</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +<td><blockquote><p> </p> +</blockquote> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><blockquote><p>Shell live till swallow-time and then shell +mer,</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +<td><blockquote><p style="text-align: center">die</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><blockquote><p>For never will a rye come back to her</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +<td><blockquote><p style="text-align: center">gentleman</p> +</blockquote> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Wot leaves her till the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>All night I heerd them bees and +grasshoppers;</p> +<p>All night I smelt the breath o grass and may,</p> +<p>Mixed sweet wi’ smells o honey from the furze</p> +<p>Like on that mornin when you went away;</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="page403"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +403</span>All night I heerd in dreams my daddy sal,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">laugh</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Sayin, De blessed chi ud give de chollo</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">girl-whole</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>O Bozzles breed—tans, vardey, greis, and +all—</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">tents: waggons: horses</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>To see dat tarno rye o hern palall</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">back</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Wots left her till the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I woke and went a-walkin on the ice</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>All white with snow-dust, just like sparklin loon,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">salt</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And soon beneath the stars I heerd a vice,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A vice I knowed and often, often shoon;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">hear</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>An then I seed a shape as thin as tuv;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">smoke</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I knowed it wur my blessed mammy s mollo. <a +name="citation403a"></a><a href="#footnote403a" +class="citation">[403a]</a></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">spirit</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Rhona, she sez, that tarno rye you love,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>He s thinkin on you; don t you go and rove;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">weep</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>You ll see him at the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Sez she, For you it seemed to kill the grass</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>When he wur gone, and freeze the brooklets gillies;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">songs</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>There wornt no smell, dear, in the sweetest cas,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">hay</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And when the summer brought the water-lilies,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And when the sweet winds waved the golden giv,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">wheat</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The skies above em seemed as bleak and kollo <a +name="citation403b"></a><a href="#footnote403b" +class="citation">[403b]</a></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">black</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>As now, when all the world seems frozen yiv.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">snow</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The months are long, but mammy says you ll live</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>By thinkin o the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>She sez, The whinchat soon wi silver throat</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Will meet the stonechat in the buddin whin,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And soon the blackcaps airliest gillie ull float</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">song</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>From light-green boughs through leaves a-peepin thin;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The wheat-ear soon ull bring the willow-wren,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And then the fust fond nightingale ull follow,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A-callin Come, dear, to his laggin hen</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Still out at sea, the spring is in our glen;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Come, darlin, wi the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="page404"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +404</span>And she wur gone! And then I read the words</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>In mornin twilight wot you rote to me;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>They made the Christmas sing with summer birds,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And spring-leaves shine on every frozen tree;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And when the dawnin kindled Rington spire,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And curdlin winter-clouds burnt gold and lollo</p> +</td> +<td><p>red</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Round the dear sun, wot seemed a yolk o fire,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Another night, I sez, has brought him nigher;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>He s comin wi the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And soon the bull-pups found me on the Pool—</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>You know the way they barks to see me slide—</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>But when the skatin bors o Rington scool</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Comed on, it turned my head to see em glide.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I seemed to see you twirlin on your skates,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And somethin made me clap my hans and hollo;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>It s him, I sez, achinnin o them 8s.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">cutting</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>But when I woke-like—Im the gal wot waits</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Alone, I sez, the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Comin seemed ringin in the Christmas-chime;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Comin seemed rit on everything I seed,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>In beads o frost along the nets o rime,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Sparklin on every frozen rush and reed;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And when the pups began to bark and play,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>And frisk and scrabble and bite my frock and wallow</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Among the snow and fling it up like spray,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I says to them, You know who rote to say</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>He s comin wi the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The thought on t makes the snow-drifts o December</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Shine gold, I sez, like daffodils o spring</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Wot wait beneath: hes comin, pups, remember;</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>If not—for me no singin birds ull sing:</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>No choring chiriklo ull hold the gale</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">cuckoo</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Wi Cuckoo, cuckoo, <a name="citation404"></a><a +href="#footnote404" class="citation">[404]</a> over hill and +hollow:</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Therell be no crakin o the meadow-rail,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="page405"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +405</span>Therell be no Jug-jug o the nightingale,</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>For her wot waits the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Come back, minaw, and you may kiss your han</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">mine own</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>To that fine rawni rowin on the river;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">lady</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I ll never call that lady a chovihan</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">witch</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nor yit a mumply gorgie—I’ll forgive her.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">miserable Gentile</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Come back, minaw: I wur to be your wife.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Come back—or, say the word, and I will follow</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Your footfalls round the world: Ill leave this life</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>(Ive flung away a-ready that ere knife)—</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I m dyin for the comin o the swallow.</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>Percy returns to England and reaches Gypsy Dell at the very +moment when ‘the Schollard,’ maddened by the +discovery that Rhona is to meet Percy that night, has drawn his +knife upon the girl under the starlight by the river-bank. +Percy on one side of the river witnesses the death-struggle on +the other side without being able to go to Rhona’s +assistance. But the girl hurls her antagonist into the +water, and he is drowned. There are other +witnesses—the stars, whose reflected light, according to a +gypsy superstition, writes in the water, just above where the +drowned man sank, mysterious runes, telling the story of the +deed. For a Romany woman who marries a Gorgio the penalty +is death. Nevertheless, Rhona marries Percy. I will +quote the sonnets describing Rhona as she wakes in the tent at +dawn:—</p> +<blockquote><p>The young light peeps through yonder trembling +chink<br /> +The tent’s mouth makes in answer to a breeze;<br /> +The rooks outside are stirring in the trees<br /> +Through which I see the deepening bars of pink.<br /> +I hear the earliest anvil’s tingling clink<br /> +From Jasper’s forge; the cattle on the leas<br /> +Begin to low. She’s waking by degrees:<br /> +<a name="page406"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +406</span>Sleep’s rosy fetters melt, but link by link.<br +/> +What dream is hers? Her eyelids shake with tears;<br /> +The fond eyes open now like flowers in dew:<br /> +She sobs I know not what of passionate fears:<br /> +“You’ll never leave me now? There is but +you;<br /> +I dreamt a voice was whispering in my ears,<br /> +‘The Dukkeripen o’ stars comes ever +true.’”</p> +<p>She rises, startled by a wandering bee<br /> +Buzzing around her brow to greet the girl:<br /> +She draws the tent wide open with a swirl,<br /> +And, as she stands to breathe the fragrancy<br /> +Beneath the branches of the hawthorn tree—<br /> +Whose dews fall on her head like beads of pearl,<br /> +Or drops of sunshine firing tress and curl—<br /> +The Spirit of the Sunrise speaks to me,<br /> +And says, ‘This bride of yours, I know her well,<br /> +And so do all the birds in all the bowers<br /> +Who mix their music with the breath of flowers<br /> +When greetings rise from river, heath and dell.<br /> +See, on the curtain of the morning haze<br /> +The Future’s finger writes of happy days.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Rhona, half-hidden by ‘the branches of the hawthorn +tree,’ stretches up to kiss the white and green May buds +overhanging the bridal tent, while Percy Aylwin stands at the +tent’s mouth and looks at her:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Can this be she, who, on that fateful day<br /> + When Romany knives leapt out at me like stings<br /> + Hurled back the men, who shrank like stricken +things<br /> +From Rhona’s eyes, whose lightnings seemed to slay?<br /> +Can this be she, half-hidden in the may,<br /> + Kissing the buds for ‘luck o’ +love’ it brings,<br /> + While from the dingle grass the skylark springs<br +/> +And merle and mavis answer finch and jay?</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[He goes up to the hawthorn, pulls +the branches<br /> +apart, and clasps her in his arms.</p> +<p><a name="page407"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 407</span>Can +she here, covering with her childish kisses<br /> + These pearly buds—can she so soft, so +tender,<br /> +So shaped for clasping—dowered of all +love-blisses—<br /> + Be my fierce girl whose love for me would send +her,<br /> +An angel storming hell, through death’s abysses,<br /> + Where never a sight could fright or power could bend +her?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But Rhona is haunted by forebodings, and one night when the +lovers are on the river she reads the scripture of the +stars. I must give here the sonnet quoted on page +29:—</p> +<blockquote><p>The mirrored stars lit all the bulrush-spears,<br +/> +And all the flags and broad-leaved lily-isles;<br /> +The ripples shook the stars to golden smiles,<br /> +Then smoothed them back to happy golden spheres.<br /> +We rowed—we sang; her voice seemed in mine ears<br /> +An angel’s, yet with woman’s dearer wiles;<br /> +But shadows fell from gathering cloudy piles<br /> +And ripples shook the stars to fiery tears.</p> +<p>What shaped those shadows like another boat<br /> +Where Rhona sat and he Love made a liar?<br /> +There, where the Scollard sank, I saw it float,<br /> +While ripples shook the stars to symbols dire;<br /> +We wept—we kissed—while starry fingers wrote,<br /> +And ripples shook the stars to a snake of fire.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The most tragically dramatic scene in the poem is that in +which Percy confronts the cosmic mystery, defying its +menace. The stars write in the river:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Falsehold can never shield her: Truth is +strong.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Percy reads the rune and answers:—</p> +<blockquote><p>I read your rune: is there no pity, then,<br /> +In Heav’n that wove this net of life for men?<br /> +Have only Hell and Falsehood heart for ruth?<br /> +Show me, ye mirrored stars, this tyrant Truth—<br /> + King that can do no wrong!<br /> +Ah! Night seems opening! There, above the skies,<br +/> +<a name="page408"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 408</span>Who sits +upon that central sun for throne<br /> +Round which a golden sand of worlds is strown,<br /> +Stretching right onward to an endless ocean,<br /> +Far, far away, of living, dazzling motion?<br /> +Hearken, King Truth, with pictures in thine eyes<br /> +Mirrored from gates beyond the furthest portal<br /> +Of infinite light, ’tis Love that stands immortal,<br /> +The King of Kings.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The gypsies read the starry rune, and, discovering +Rhona’s secret, secretly slay her. Percy, having +returned to Gypsy Dell, vainly tries to find her grave. +Then he flies from the dingle, lest the memory of Rhona should +drive him mad, and lives alone in the Alps, where he passes into +the strange ecstasy, described in the sonnet called ‘Natura +Maligna,’ which has been much discussed by the +critics:—</p> +<blockquote><p>The Lady of the Hills with crimes untold<br /> +Followed my feet with azure eyes of prey;<br /> +By glacier-brink she stood—by cataract-spray—<br /> +When mists were dire, or avalanche-echoes rolled.<br /> +At night she glimmered in the death-wind cold,<br /> +And if a footprint shone at break of day,<br /> +My flesh would quail, but straight my soul would say:<br /> +‘’Tis hers whose hand God’s mightier hand doth +hold.’<br /> +I trod her snow-bridge, for the moon was bright,<br /> +Her icicle-arch across the sheer crevasse,<br /> +When lo, she stood! . . . God made her let me pass,<br /> +Then felled the bridge! . . . Oh, there in sallow light,<br +/> +There down the chasm, I saw her cruel, white,<br /> +And all my wondrous days as in a glass.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This awful vision, quick with supernatural seership, is unique +in poetry. Sir George Birdwood, the orientalist, wrote in +the ‘Athenæum’ of February 5, 1881: “Even +in its very epithets it is just such a hymn as a Hindu Puritan +(Saivite) would address to Kali (‘the malignant’) <a +name="page409"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 409</span>or Parvati +(‘the mountaineer’). It is to be delivered from +her that Hindus shriek to God in the delirium of their +fear.”</p> +<p>Then we are shown Percy standing at midnight in front of his +hut, while New Year’s morning is breaking:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Through Fate’s mysterious warp another +weft<br /> + Of days is cast; and see! Time’s +star-built throne,<br /> + From which he greets a new-born year, is shown<br /> +Between yon curtains where the clouds are cleft!<br /> +Old Year, while here I stand, with heart bereft<br /> + Of all that was its music—stand alone,<br /> + Remembering happy hours for ever flown,<br /> +Impatient of the leaden minutes left—</p> +<p>The plaudits of mankind that once gave pleasure,<br /> + The chidings of mankind that once gave pain,<br /> +Seem in this hermit hut beyond all measure<br /> + Barren and foolish, and I cry, ‘No grain,<br +/> +No grain, but winnowings in the harvest sieve!’<br /> +And yet I cannot join the dead—and live.</p> +<p>Old Year, what bells are ringing in the New<br /> + In England, heedless of the knells they ring<br /> + To you and those whose sorrow makes you cling<br /> +Each to the other ere you say adieu!—<br /> +I seem to hear their chimes—the chimes we knew<br /> + In those dear days when Rhona used to sing,<br /> + Greeting a New Year’s Day as bright of wing<br +/> +As this whose pinions soon will rise to view.</p> +<p>If these dream-bells which come and mock mine ears<br /> + Could bring the past and make it live again,<br /> + Yea, live with every hour of grief and pain,<br /> +And hopes deferred and all the grievous fears—<br /> + And with the past bring her I weep in vain—<br +/> +Then would I bless them, though I blessed in tears.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[The clouds move away and show +the<br /> +stars in dazzling brightness.</p> +<p>Those stars! they set my rebel-pulses beating<br /> + Against the tyrant Sorrow, him who drove<br /> + <a name="page410"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +410</span>My footsteps from the Dell and haunted Grove—<br +/> +They bring the mighty Mother’s new-year greeting:<br /> + ‘All save great Nature is a vision +fleeting’—<br /> + So says the scripture of those orbs above.<br /> + ‘All, all,’ I cry, ‘except +man’s dower of love!—<br /> +Love is no child of Nature’s mystic cheating!’</p> +<p>And yet it comes again, the old desire<br /> + To read what yonder constellations write<br /> + On river and ocean—secrets of the +night—<br /> +To feel again the spirit’s wondering fire<br /> + Which, ere this passion came, absorbed me +quite,<br /> +To catch the master-note of Nature’s lyre.</p> +<p>New Year, the stars do not forget the Old!<br /> + And yet they say to me, most sorely stung<br /> + By Fate and Death, ‘Nature is ever young,<br +/> +Clad in new riches, as each morning’s gold<br /> +Blooms o’er a blasted land: be thou consoled:<br /> + The Past was great, his harp was greatly strung;<br +/> + The Past was great, his songs were greatly sung;<br +/> +The Past was great, his tales were greatly told;</p> +<p>The Past has given to man a wondrous world,<br /> +But curtains of old Night were being upcurled<br /> + Whilst thou wast mourning Rhona; things sublime<br +/> +In worlds of worlds were breaking on the sight<br /> + Of Youth’s fresh runners in the lists of +Time.<br /> +Arise, and drink the wine of Nature’s light!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Finally, a dream prepares the sorrowing lover for the true +reading of ‘The Promise of the Sunrise’ and the +revelation of ‘Natura Benigna’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath the loveliest dream there coils a fear:<br +/> +Last night came she whose eyes are memories now;<br /> +Her far-off gaze seemed all forgetful how<br /> +Love dimmed them once, so calm they shone and clear.<br /> +‘Sorrow,’ I said, ‘has made me old, my dear;<br +/> +’Tis I, indeed, but grief can change the brow:<br /> +Beneath my load a seraph’s neck might bow,<br /> +<a name="page411"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 411</span>Vigils +like mine would blanch an angel’s hair.’<br /> +Oh, then I saw, I saw the sweet lips move!<br /> +I saw the love-mists thickening in her eyes—<br /> +I heard a sound as if a murmuring dove<br /> +Felt lonely in the dells of Paradise;<br /> +But when upon my neck she fell, my love,<br /> +Her hair smelt sweet of whin and woodland spice.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And now ‘Natura Benigna’ reveals to him her mystic +consolation:—</p> +<blockquote><p>What power is this? What witchery wins my +feet<br /> +To peaks so sheer they scorn the cloaking snow,<br /> +All silent as the emerald gulfs below,<br /> +Down whose ice-walls the wings of twilight beat?<br /> +What thrill of earth and heaven—most wild, most +sweet—<br /> +What answering pulse that all the senses know,<br /> +Comes leaping from the ruddy eastern glow<br /> +Where, far away, the skies and mountains meet?<br /> +Mother, ’tis I, reborn: I know thee well:<br /> +That throb I know and all it prophesies,<br /> +O Mother and Queen, beneath the olden spell<br /> +Of silence, gazing from thy hills and skies!<br /> +Dumb Mother, struggling with the years to tell<br /> +The secret at thy heart through helpless eyes.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is not the pathetic fallacy. It is the poetic +interpretation of the latest discovery of science, to wit, that +dead matter is alive, and that the universe is an infinite +stammering and whispering, that may be heard only by the +poet’s finer ear.</p> +<p>The extracts I have given are sufficient to show the +originality of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poetry, both in subject +and in form. The originality of any poet is seen, not in +fantastic metrical experiments, but rather in new and original +treatment of the metres natural to the genius of the +language. In ‘The Coming of Love’ the poet has +invented a new poetic form. Its object is to combine <a +name="page412"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 412</span>the +advantages and to avoid the disadvantages of lyrical narrative, +of poetic drama, of the prose novel, and of the prose play. +In Tennyson’s ‘Maud’ and in Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s other lyrical drama, “Christmas at the +‘Mermaid,’” the special functions of all the +above mentioned forms are knit together in a new form. The +story is told by brief pictures. In ‘The Coming of +Love’ this method reaches its perfection. Lyrics, +songs, elegaic quatrains, and sonnets, are used according to an +inner law of the poet’s mind. The exaltation of these +moments is intensified by the business parts of the narrative +being summarized in bare prose. The interplay of thought, +mood, and passion is revealed wholly by swift lyrical +visions. In Dante’s ‘Vita Nuova’ a method +something like this is adopted, but there the links are in a kind +of poetical prose akin to the verse, and as Dante’s poems +are all sonnets, there is no harmonic scheme of metrical music +like that in ‘The Coming of Love.’ Here the +very ‘rhyme-colour’ and the subtle variety of vowel +sounds from beginning to end are evidently part of the metrical +composition. Wagner’s music is the only modern +art-form which is comparable with the metrical architecture of +‘The Coming of Love,’ and “Christmas at the +‘Mermaid.’” No one can fully understand +the rhythmic triumph of these great poems who has not studied it +by the light of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s theory of elaborate +rhythmic effects in music formulated in his treatise on Poetry in +the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’—a theory +which shows that metrical and rhythmical art, as compared with +the art of music, is still developing. Both these lyrical +dramas ought to be carefully studied by all students of English +metres.</p> +<p>The novelty of these forms is not a fortuitous eccentricity, +<a name="page413"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 413</span>but an +extremely valuable experiment in a new kind of dramatic +poetry. It is remarkable that in this new and difficult +form the poet has achieved in Rhona Boswell a feat of +characterization quite without parallel under such +conditions. Rhona is so vivid that it is hardly fair to +hang her portrait on the same wall as those of the ordinary +heroines of poetry. But if, for the sake of comparison, +Rhona be set beside Tennyson’s Maud, the difference is +startling. Maud does not tingle with personality. She +is a type, an abstraction, a common denominator of ‘creamy +English girls.’ Rhona, on the other hand, is +nervously alive with personality. One makes pictures of her +in one’s brain—pictures that never become blurred, +pictures that do not run into other pictures of other poetic +heroines. How much of this is due to the poetic form? +Could Rhona have lived so intensely in a novel or a play? I +do not think so. At any rate, she lives with incomparable +vitality in this lyrical drama-novel, and therefore the poetic +vehicle in which she rushes upon our vision is well worth the +study of critics and craftsmen. Mr. Kernahan has called +attention to the baldness of the enlinking prose narrative. +Perhaps this defect could be remedied by using a more poetic and +more romantic prose like that of the opening of +‘Aylwin,’ which would lead the imagination insensibly +from one situation or mood to another.</p> +<p>In connection with the opening sonnets of ‘The Coming of +Love,’ a very interesting point of criticism presents +itself. These sonnets, in which Mr. Watts-Dunton tells the +story of the girl who lived in the Casket lighthouse, appeared in +the ‘Athenæum’ a week after Mr. Swinburne and +he returned from a visit to the Channel Islands. They +record a real incident. Some <a name="page414"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 414</span>time afterwards Mr. Swinburne +published in the ‘English Illustrated Magazine’ his +version of the story, a splendid specimen of his sonorous +rhythms.</p> +<p>Mr. Watts-Dunton’s version of the story may interest the +reader:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">LOVE BRINGS WARNING OF +NATURA MALIGNA<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">(THE POET SAILING WITH A FRIEND PAST THE +CASKET LIGHTHOUSE)</span></p> +<p>Amid the Channel’s wiles and deep decoys,<br /> +Where yonder Beacons watch the siren-sea,<br /> +A girl was reared who knew nor flower nor tree<br /> +Nor breath of grass at dawn, yet had high joys:<br /> +The moving lawns whose verdure never cloys<br /> +Were hers. At last she sailed to Alderney,<br /> +But there she pined. ‘The bustling world,’ said +she,<br /> +‘Is all too full of trouble, full of noise.’<br /> +The storm-child, fainting for her home, the storm,<br /> +Had winds for sponsor—one proud rock for nurse,<br /> +Whose granite arms, through countless years, disperse<br /> +All billowy squadrons tide and wind can form:<br /> +The cold bright sea was hers for universe<br /> +Till o’er the waves Love flew and fanned them warm.</p> +<p>But love brings Fear with eyes of augury:—<br /> +Her lover’s boat was out; her ears were dinned<br /> +With sea-sobs warning of the awakened wind<br /> +That shook the troubled sun’s red canopy.<br /> +Even while she prayed the storm’s high revelry<br /> +Woke petrel, gull—all revellers winged and finned—<br +/> +And clutched a sail brown-patched and weather-thinned,<br /> +And then a swimmer fought a white, wild sea.<br /> +‘My songs are louder, child, than prayers of +thine,’<br /> +The Mother sang. ‘Thy sea-boy waged no strife<br /> +With Hatred’s poison, gangrened Envy’s +knife—<br /> +With me he strove, in deadly sport divine,<br /> +Who lend to men, to gods, an hour of life,<br /> +Then give them sleep within these arms of mine!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page415"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 415</span>Two +poems more absolutely unlike could not be found in our literature +than these poems on the same subject by two intimate +friends. It seems impossible that the two writers could +ever have read each other’s work or ever have known each +other well. The point which I wish to emphasize is that two +poets or two literary men may be more intimate than brothers, +they may live with each other constantly, they may meet each +other every day, at luncheon, at dinner, they may spend a large +portion of the evening in each other’s society; and yet +when they sit down at their desks they may be as far asunder as +the poles. From this we may perhaps infer that among the +many imaginable divisions of writers there is this one: there are +men who can collaborate and men who cannot.</p> +<p>Many well-known writers have expressed their admiration of +this poem. I may mention that the other day I came across a +little book called ‘Authors that have Influenced me,’ +and found that Mr. Rider Haggard instanced the opening section of +‘The Coming of Love,’ ‘Mother Carey’s +Chicken,’ as being the piece of writing that had influenced +him more than all others. I think this is a compliment, for +the originality of invention displayed in ‘King +Solomon’s Mines’ and ‘She’ sets Rider +Haggard apart among the story-tellers of our time, and I agree +with Mr. Andrew Lang in thinking that the invention of a story +that is new and also good is a rare achievement.</p> +<p>I can find no space to give as much attention as I should like +to give to Mr. Watts-Dunton’s miscellaneous sonnets. +Some of them have had a great vogue: for instance, ‘John +the Pilgrim.’ Like all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +sonnets, it lends itself to illustration, and Mr. Arthur Hacker, +A.R.A., as will be seen, has done <a name="page416"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 416</span>full justice to the imaginative +strength of the subject. It is no exaggeration to say that +there is a simple grandeur in this design which Mr. Hacker has +seldom reached elsewhere, the sinister power of Natura Benigna +being symbolized by the desert waste and nature’s mockery +by the mirage:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath the sand-storm John the Pilgrim prays;<br +/> + But when he rises, lo! an Eden smiles,<br /> + Green leafy slopes, meadows of chamomiles,<br /> +Claspt in a silvery river’s winding maze:<br /> +‘Water, water! Blessed be God!’ he says,<br /> + And totters gasping toward those happy isles.<br /> + Then all is fled! Over the sandy piles<br /> +The bald-eyed vultures come and stand at gaze.</p> +<p>‘God heard me not,’ says he, ‘blessed be +God!’<br /> + And dies. But as he nears the pearly +strand,<br /> + Heav’n’s outer coast where waiting +angels stand,<br /> +He looks below: ‘Farewell, thou hooded clod,<br /> + Brown corpse the vultures tear on bloody sand:<br /> +God heard my prayer for life—blessed be God!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p416b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"‘John the Pilgrim.’ (By Arthur Hacker, A.R.A.)" +title= +"‘John the Pilgrim.’ (By Arthur Hacker, A.R.A.)" +src="images/p416s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>This sonnet is a miracle of verbal parsimony: it has been +called an epic in fourteen lines, yet its brevity does not make +it obscure, or gnarled, or affected; and the motive adumbrates +the whole history of religious faith from Job to Jesus Christ, +from Moses to Mahomet. The rhymes in this sonnet illustrate +my own theory as to the rhymer’s luck, good and ill. +To have written this little epic upon four rhymes would not have +been possible, even for Mr. Watts-Dunton, had it not been for the +luck of ‘chamomiles’ and ‘isles,’ +‘chamomiles’ giving the picture of the flowers, and +‘isles’ giving the false vision of the mirage. +The same thing is notable in the case of another amazing tour de +force, ‘The Bedouin Child’ (see p. 448), where the <a +name="page417"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 417</span>same verbal +parsimony is exemplified. Without the fortunate rhyme-words +‘pashas,’ ‘camel-maws,’ and +‘claws’ in the octave, the picture could not have +been given in less than a dozen lines.</p> +<p>The kinship between Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poetry and that +of Coleridge has been frequently discussed. It has the same +romantic glamour and often the same music, as far as the music of +decasyllabic lines can call up the music of the ravishing +octosyllabics of ‘Christabel.’ This at least I +know, from his critical remarks on Coleridge,—he owns the +true wizard of romance as master. I do not think that any +one of his sonnets affords me quite the unmixed delight which I +find in the sonnet on Coleridge, and his friend George Meredith +is here in accord with me, for he wrote to the author as follows: +‘The sonnet is pure amber for a piece of descriptive +analogy that fits the poet wonderfully, and one might beat about +through volumes of essays and not so paint him. There is +Coleridge! But whence the source of your story—if +anything of such aptness could have been other than dreamed after +a draught of Xanadu—I cannot tell. It is new to +me.’</p> +<p>After that flash of critical divination, it is fitting to +present the reader with the ‘pure amber’ +itself:—</p> +<blockquote><p>I see thee pine like her in golden story<br /> + Who, in her prison, woke and saw, one day,<br /> + The gates thrown open—saw the sunbeams +play,<br /> +With only a web ’tween her and summer’s glory;<br /> +Who, when that web—so frail, so transitory,<br /> + It broke before her breath—had fallen away,<br +/> + Saw other webs and others rise for aye<br /> +Which kept her prisoned till her hair was hoary.</p> +<p>Those songs half-sung that yet were all divine—<br /> + That woke Romance, the queen, to reign +afresh—<br /> +<a name="page418"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 418</span>Had been +but preludes from that lyre of thine,<br /> + Could thy rare spirit’s wings have pierced the +mesh<br /> + Spun by the wizard who compels the flesh,<br /> +But lets the poet see how heav’n can shine.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here again the verbal parsimony is notable. I defy any +one to find anything like it except in Dante, the great master of +verbal parsimony. There are only six adjectives in the +whole sonnet. Every word is cunningly chosen, not for +ornament, but solely for clarity of meaning. The metrical +structure is subtly moulded so as to suspend the rising imagery +until the last word of the octave, and then to let it glide, as a +sunbeam glides down the air, to its lovely dying fall. +Metrical students will delight in the double rhymes of the +octave, which play so great a part in the suspensive music.</p> +<p>I have frequently thought that one of the most daring things, +as well as one of the wisest, done by the editor of the +‘Athenæum,’ was that of printing Rhona’s +letters, bristling with Romany words, with a glossary at the foot +of the page, and printing them without any of the context of the +poem to shed light upon it and upon Rhona. It certainly +showed immense confidence in his contributor to do that; and yet +the poems were a great success. The best thing said about +Rhona has been said by Mr. George Meredith: “I am in love +with Rhona, not the only one in that. When I read her +love-letter in the ‘Athenæum,’ I had the regret +that the dialect might cause its banishment from +literature. Reading the whole poem through, I see that it +is as good as salt to a palate. We are the richer for it, +and that is a rare thing to say of any poem now +printed.” And, discussing ‘The Coming of +Love,’ Meredith wrote: ‘I will not speak of the tours +de <a name="page419"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 419</span>force +except to express a bit of astonishment at the dexterity which +can perform them without immolating the tender spirit of the +work.’ Indeed, the technical mastery of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s poetry is so consummate that it is concealed +from the reader. There is no sense of difficulty overcome, +no parade of artifice. Yet the metrical structure of the +very poem which seems the simplest is actually the +subtlest. ‘Rhona’s Love Letter’ is +written in an extremely complex rhyme-pattern, each stanza of +eight lines being built on two rhymes, like the octave of a +sonnet. But so cunningly are the Romany words woven into a +naïve, unconscious charm that the reader forgets the +rhyme-scheme altogether, and does not realize that this +spontaneous sweetness and bubbling humour are produced by the +most elaborate art.</p> +<p>I have emphasized the originality of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +poetry. There can be no doubt that he is the most original +poet since Coleridge, not merely in verbal, metrical, and +rhythmical idiosyncrasy, but in the deeper quality of imaginative +energy. By ‘the most original poet’ I do not +mean the greatest poet: the student of poetry will know at once +what I mean. Poe’s ‘Raven’ is more +‘original’ than Shelley’s +‘Epipsychidion,’ but it is not so great. In my +article on Blake in Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of +English Literature,’ I pointed out that there are greater +poets than Blake (or Donne) but none more original. There +are many poets who possess that ordinary kind of imagination +which is mainly a perpetual matching of common ideas with common +metaphors. But few poets have the rarer kind of imagination +which creates not only the metaphor but also the idea, and then +fuses both into one piece of beauty. Now Mr. Watts-Dunton +has this <a name="page420"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +420</span>supreme gift. He uses the symbol to suggest ideas +which cannot be suggested otherwise. His theory of the +universe is optimistic, but his optimism is interwoven with +sombre threads. He sees the dualism of Nature, and he shows +her alternately as malignant and as benignant. Indeed, he +has concentrated his spiritual cosmogony into the two great +sonnets, ‘Natura Maligna’ and ‘Natura +Benigna,’ which I have already quoted.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>All the critics were delighted with the humour of Rhona +Boswell. Upon this subject Mr. Watts-Dunton makes some +pregnant remarks in the introduction to the later editions of the +poem:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“But it is with regard to the humour of +gypsy women that Gorgio readers seem to be most sceptical. +The humourous endowment of most races is found to be more +abundant and richer in quality among the men than among the +women. But among the Romanies the women seem to have taken +humour with the rest of the higher qualities.</p> +<p>A question that has been most frequently asked me in +connection with my two gypsy heroines has been: Have gypsy girls +really the esprit and the humourous charm that you attribute to +them? My answer to this question shall be a quotation from +Mr. Groome’s delightful book, ‘Gypsy +Folk-Tales.’ Speaking of the Romany chi’s +incomparable piquancy, he says:—</p> +<p>‘I have known a gypsy girl dash off what was almost a +folk-tale impromptu. She had been to a pic-nic in a +four-in-hand with “a lot o’ real tip-top +gentry”; and “Reia,” she said to me afterwards, +“I’ll tell you the comicalest thing as ever +was. We’d pulled up to put the brake on, and there +was a púro hotchiwitchi (old hedge-hog) <a +name="page421"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 421</span>come and +looked at us through the hedge; looked at me hard. I could +see he’d his eye upon me. And home he’d go, +that old hedgehog, to his wife, and ‘Missus,’ +he’d say, ‘what d’ye think? I seen a +little gypsy gal just now in a coach and four horses’; and +‘Dabla,’ she’d say, ‘sawkumni ’as +varde kenaw’” [‘Bless us! every one now keeps a +carriage’].’</p> +<p>Now, without saying that this impromptu folklorist was Rhona +Boswell, I will at least aver, without fear of contradiction from +Mr. Groome, that it might well have been she. Although +there is as great a difference between one Romany chi and another +as between one English girl and another, there is a strange and +fascinating kinship between the humour of all gypsy girls. +No three girls could possibly be more unlike than Sinfi Lovell, +Rhona Boswell, and the girl of whom Mr. Groome gives his +anecdote; and yet there is a similarity between the fanciful +humour of them all. The humour of Rhona Boswell must speak +for itself in these pages—where, however, the passionate +and tragic side of her character and her story dominates +everything.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page422"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +422</span>Chapter XXVII<br /> +“CHRISTMAS AT THE ‘MERMAID’”</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Second</span> in importance to ‘The +Coming of Love’ among Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poems is the +poem I have already mentioned—the poem which Mr. Swinburne +has described as ‘a great lyrical +epic’—“Christmas at the +‘Mermaid.’” The originality of this +wonderful poem is quite as striking as that of ‘The Coming +of Love.’ No other writer would have dreamed of +depicting the doomed Armada as being led to destruction by a +golden skeleton in the form of one of the burnt Incas, called up +by ‘the righteous sea,’ and squatting grimly at the +prow of Medina’s flag-ship. Here we get ‘The +Renascence of Wonder’ indeed. Some Aylwinians put it +at the head of all his writings. The exploit of David Gwynn +is accepted by Motley and others as historic, but it needed the +co-operation of the Golden Skeleton to lift his narrative into +the highest heaven of poetry. Extremely unlike ‘The +Coming of Love’ as it is in construction, it is built on +the same metrical scheme; and it illustrates equally well with +‘The Coming of Love’ the remarks I have made upon a +desideratum in poetic art—that is to say, it is cast in a +form which gives as much scope to the dramatic instinct at work +as is given by a play, and yet it is a form free from the +restrictions by which a play must necessarily be cramped. +The poem was written, or mainly written, during one of those +visits <a name="page423"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +423</span>which, as I have already said, Mr. Watts-Dunton used to +pay to Stratford-on-Avon. The scene is laid, however, in +London, at that famous ‘Mermaid’ tavern which haunts +the dreams of all English poets:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“With the exception of Shakespeare, who has +quitted London for good, in order to reside at New Place, +Stratford-on-Avon, which he has lately rebuilt, all the members +of the ‘Mermaid’ Club are assembled at the +‘Mermaid’ Tavern. At the head of the table sits +Ben Jonson dealing out wassail from a large bowl. At the +other end sits Raleigh, and at Raleigh’s right hand, the +guest he had brought with him, a stranger, David Gwynn, the Welsh +seaman, now an elderly man, whose story of his exploits as a +galley-slave in crippling the Armada before it reached the +Channel had, years before, whether true or false, given him in +the low countries a great reputation, the echo of which had +reached England. Raleigh’s desire was to excite the +public enthusiasm for continuing the struggle with Spain on the +sea, and generally to revive the fine Elizabethan temper, which +had already become almost a thing of the past, save, perhaps, +among such choice spirits as those associated with the +‘Mermaid’ club.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It opens with a chorus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Christmas knows a merry, merry place,<br /> +Where he goes with fondest face,<br /> + Brightest eye, brightest hair:<br /> +Tell the Mermaid where is that one place:<br /> + Where?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then Ben Jonson rises, fills the cup with wassail and drinks +to Shakespeare, and thus comments upon his absence:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page424"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +424</span>That he, the star of revel, bright-eyed Will,<br /> + With life at golden summit, fled the town<br /> + And took from Thames that light to dwindle down<br +/> +O’er Stratford farms, doth make me marvel still.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then he calls upon Shakespeare’s most intimate +friend—the mysterious Mr. W. H. of the sonnets—to +give them reminiscences of Shakespeare with a special reference +to the memorable evening when he arrived at Stratford on quitting +London for good and all.</p> +<p>To the sixth edition of the poem Mr. Watts-Dunton prefixed the +following remarks, and I give them here because they throw light +upon his view of Shakespeare’s friend:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Since the appearance of this volume, there +has been a great deal of acute and learned discussion as to the +identity of that mysterious ‘friend’ of Shakespeare, +to whom so many of the sonnets are addressed. But +everything that has been said upon the subject seems to fortify +me in the opinion that ‘no critic has been able to +identify’ that friend. Southampton seems at first to +fit into the sacred place; so does Pembroke at first. But, +after a while, true and unbiassed criticism rejects them +both. I therefore feel more than ever justified in +‘imagining the friend for myself.’ And this, at +least, I know, that to have been the friend of Shakespeare, a man +must needs have been a lover of nature;—he must have been a +lover of England, too. And upon these two points, and upon +another—the movement of a soul dominated by friendship as a +passion—I have tried to show Shakespeare’s probable +influence upon his ‘friend of friends.’ It +would have been a mistake, however, to cast the sonnets in the +same metrical mould as Shakespeare’s.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="page425"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +425</span>Shakspeare’s friend thus records what Shakespeare +had told him about his return to Stratford:—</p> +<blockquote><p>As down the bank he strolled through evening +dew,<br /> +Pictures (he told me) of remembered eves<br /> +Mixt with that dream the Avon ever weaves,<br /> +And all his happy childhood came to view;<br /> +He saw a child watching the birds that flew<br /> +Above a willow, through whose musky leaves<br /> +A green musk-beetle shone with mail and greaves<br /> +That shifted in the light to bronze and blue.<br /> +These dreams, said he, were born of fragrance falling<br /> +From trees he loved, the scent of musk recalling,<br /> +With power beyond all power of things beholden<br /> +Or things reheard, those days when elves of dusk<br /> +Came, veiled the wings of evening feathered golden,<br /> +And closed him in from all but willow musk.</p> +<p>And then a child beneath a silver sallow—<br /> +A child who loved the swans, the moorhen’s +‘cheep’—<br /> +Angled for bream where river holes were deep—<br /> +For gudgeon where the water glittered shallow,<br /> +Or ate the ‘fairy cheeses’ of the mallow,<br /> +And wild fruits gathered where the wavelets creep<br /> +Round that loved church whose shadow seems to sleep<br /> +In love upon the stream and bless and hallow;<br /> +And then a child to whom the water-fairies<br /> +Sent fish to ‘bite’ from Avon’s holes and +shelves,<br /> +A child to whom, from richest honey-dairies,<br /> +The flower-sprites sent the bees and ‘sunshine +elves’;<br /> +Then, in the shifting vision’s sweet vagaries,<br /> +He saw two lovers walking by themselves—</p> +<p>Walking beneath the trees, where drops of rain<br /> +Wove crowns of sunlit opal to decoy<br /> +Young love from home; and one, the happy boy,<br /> +Knew all the thoughts of birds in every strain—<br /> +Knew why the cushat breaks his fond refrain<br /> +By sudden silence, ‘lest his plaint should +cloy’—<br /> +Knew when the skylark’s changing note of joy<br /> +<a name="page426"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 426</span>Saith, +‘Now will I return to earth again’—<br /> +Knew every warning of the blackbird’s shriek,<br /> +And every promise of his joyful song—<br /> +Knew what the magpie’s chuckle fain would speak;<br /> +And, when a silent cuckoo flew along,<br /> +Bearing an egg in her felonious beak,<br /> +Knew every nest threatened with grievous wrong.<br /> +He heard her say, ‘The birds attest our troth!’<br /> +Hark to the mavis, Will, in yonder may<br /> +Fringing the sward, where many a hawthorn spray<br /> +Round summer’s royal field of golden cloth<br /> +Shines o’er the buttercups like snowy froth,<br /> +And that sweet skylark on his azure way,<br /> +And that wise cuckoo, hark to what they say:<br /> +‘We birds of Avon heard and bless you both.’<br /> +And, Will, the sunrise, flushing with its glory,<br /> +River and church, grows rosier with our story!<br /> +This breeze of morn, sweetheart, which moves caressing,<br /> +Hath told the flowers; they wake to lovelier growth!<br /> +They breathe—o’er mead and stream they +breathe—the blessing.<br /> +‘We flowers of Avon heard and bless you both!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When Mr. ‘W. H.’ sits down, the friend and brother +of another great poet, Christopher Marlowe, who had been sitting +moody and silent, oppressed by thoughts of the dead man, many of +whose unfriends were at the gathering, recites these lines +‘On Seeing Kit Marlowe Slain at Deptford’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>’Tis Marlowe falls! That last lunge +rent asunder<br /> +Our lyre of spirit and flesh, Kit Marlowe’s life,<br /> +Whose chords seemed strung by earth and heaven at strife,<br /> +Yet ever strung to beauty above or under!<br /> +Heav’n kens of Man, but oh! the stars can blunder,<br /> +If Fate’s hand guided yonder villain’s knife<br /> +Through that rare brain, so teeming, daring, rife<br /> +With dower of poets—song and love and wonder.<br /> +Or was it Chance? Shakspeare, who art supreme<br /> +O’er man and men, yet sharest Marlowe’s sight<br /> +<a name="page427"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 427</span>To +pierce the clouds that hide the inhuman height<br /> +Where man and men and gods and all that seem<br /> +Are Nature’s mutterings in her changeful dream—<br /> +Come, spell the runes these bloody rivulets write!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>After they have all drunk in silence to the memory of Marlowe, +Marlowe’s friend speaks:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Where’er thou art, ‘dead +Shepherd,’ look on me;<br /> + The boy who loved thee loves more dearly now,<br /> + He sees thine eyes in yonder holly-bough;<br /> +Oh, Kit, my Kit, the Mermaid drinks to thee!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then Raleigh rises, and the great business of the evening +begins with the following splendid chorus:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">(Turning to David Gwynn)</p> +<p> Wherever billows foam<br /> + The Briton fights at home:<br /> +His hearth is built of water—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Water blue and green;</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span></p> +<p> There’s never a wave of ocean<br /> + The wind can set in motion<br /> +That shall not own our England—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Own our England queen. <a name="citation427"></a><a +href="#footnote427" class="citation">[427]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span></p> +<p> The guest I bring to-night<br /> + Had many a goodly fight<br /> +On seas the Don hath found—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page428"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 428</span><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Hath found for English sails;</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span></p> +<p> And once he dealt a blow<br /> + Against the Don to show<br /> +What mighty hearts can move—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Can move in leafy Wales.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span></p> +<p> Stand up, bold Master Gwynn,<br /> + Who hast a heart akin<br /> +To England’s own brave hearts—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Brave hearts where’er they beat;</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span></p> +<p> Stand up, brave Welshman, thou,<br /> + And tell the Mermaid how<br /> +A galley-slave struck hard—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Struck hard the Spanish fleet.</p> +<p> Christmas knows a merry, merry place,<br /> + Where he goes with fondest +face,<br /> + Brightest eye, +brightest hair:<br /> +Tell the Mermaid where is that one place:<br /> + + +Where?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Upon being thus called forth the old sea-dog rises, and tells +a wonderful story indeed, the ‘story of how he and the +Golden Skeleton crippled the Great Armada sailing +out’:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘A galley lie’ they called my tale; +but he<br /> + Whose talk is with the deep kens mighty tales:<br /> +The man, I say, who helped to keep you free<br /> + <a name="page429"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +429</span>Stands here, a truthful son of truthful Wales.<br /> +Slandered by England as a loose-lipped liar,<br /> + Banished from Ireland, branded rogue and thief,<br +/> +Here stands that Gwynn whose life of torments dire<br /> +Heaven sealed for England, sealed in blood and fire—<br /> + Stands asking here Truth’s one reward, +belief!</p> +<p>And Spain shall tell, with pallid lips of dread,<br /> + This tale of mine—shall tell, in future +days,<br /> +How Gwynn, the galley-slave, once fought and bled<br /> + For England when she moved in perilous ways;<br /> +But say, ye gentlemen of England, sprung<br /> + From loins of men whose ghosts have still the +sea—<br /> +Doth England—she who loves the loudest tongue—<br /> +Remember mariners whose deeds are sung<br /> + By waves where flowed their blood to keep her +free?</p> +<p>I see—I see ev’n now—those ships of Spain<br +/> + Gathered in Tagus’ mouth to make the +spring;<br /> +I feel the cursed oar, I toil again,<br /> + And trumpets blare, and priests and choir-boys +sing;<br /> +And morning strikes with many a crimson shaft,<br /> + Through ruddy haze, four galleys rowing +out—<br /> +Four galleys built to pierce the English craft,<br /> +Each swivel-gunned for raking fore and aft,<br /> + Snouted like sword-fish, but with iron snout.</p> +<p>And one we call the ‘Princess,’ one the +‘Royal,’<br /> + ‘Diana’ one; but ’tis the +fell ‘Basana’<br /> +Where I am toiling, Gwynn, the true, the loyal,<br /> + Thinking of mighty Drake and Gloriana;<br /> +For by their help Hope whispers me that I—<br /> + Whom ten hours’ daily travail at a stretch<br +/> +Has taught how sweet a thing it is to die—<br /> +May strike once more where flags of England fly,<br /> + Strike for myself and many a haggard wretch.</p> +<p>True sorrow knows a tale it may not tell:<br /> + Again I feel the lash that tears my back;<br /> +Again I hear mine own blaspheming yell,<br /> + Answered by boatswain’s laugh and +scourge’s crack;<br /> +Again I feel the pang when trying to choke<br /> + <a name="page430"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +430</span>Rather than drink the wine, or chew the bread<br /> +Wherewith, when rest for meals would break the stroke,<br /> +They cram our mouths while still we sit at yoke;<br /> + Again is Life, not Death, the shape of dread.</p> +<p>By Finisterre there comes a sudden gale,<br /> + And mighty waves assault our trembling galley<br /> +With blows that strike her waist as strikes a flail,<br /> + And soldiers cry, ‘What saint shall bid her +rally?’<br /> +Some slaves refuse to row, and some implore<br /> + The Dons to free them from the metal tether<br /> +By which their limbs are locked upon the oar;<br /> +Some shout, in answer to the billows’ roar,<br /> + ‘The Dons and we will drink brine-wine +together.’</p> +<p>‘Bring up the slave,’ I hear the captain cry,<br +/> + ‘Who sank the golden galleon “El +Dorado,”<br /> +The dog can steer.’<br /> + + +‘Here sits the dog,’ quoth I,<br /> + ‘Who sank the ship of Commodore +Medrado!’<br /> +With hell-lit eyes, blistered by spray and rain,<br /> + Standing upon the bridge, saith he to me:<br /> +‘Hearken, thou pirate—bold Medrado’s +bane!—<br /> +Freedom and gold are thine, and thanks of Spain,<br /> + If thou canst take the galley through this +sea.’</p> +<p>‘Ay! ay!’ quoth I. The fools unlock me +straight!<br /> + And then ’tis I give orders to the Don,<br /> +Laughing within to hear the laugh of Fate,<br /> + Whose winning game I know hath just begun.<br /> +I mount the bridge when dies the last red streak<br /> + Of evening, and the moon seems fain for night<br /> +Oh then I see beneath the galley’s beak<br /> +A glow like Spanish <i>auto’s</i> ruddy reek—<br /> + Oh then these eyes behold a wondrous sight!</p> +<p>A skeleton, but yet with living eyes—<br /> + A skeleton, but yet with bones like gold—<br +/> +Squats on the galley-beak, in wondrous wise,<br /> + And round his brow, of high imperial mould,<br /> +A burning circle seems to shake and shine,<br /> + <a name="page431"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +431</span>Bright, fiery bright, with many a living gem,<br /> +Throwing a radiance o’er the foam-lit brine:<br /> + ‘’Tis God’s Revenge,’ +methinks. ‘Heaven sends for sign<br /> +That bony shape—that Inca’s diadem.’</p> +<p>At first the sign is only seen of me,<br /> + But well I know that God’s Revenge hath +come<br /> +To strike the Armada, set old ocean free,<br /> + And cleanse from stain of Spain the beauteous +foam.<br /> +Quoth I, ‘How fierce soever be the levin<br /> + Spain’s hand can hurl—made mightier +still for wrong<br /> +By that great Scarlet One whose hills are seven—<br /> +Yea, howsoever Hell may scoff at Heaven—<br /> + Stronger than Hell is God, though Hell is +strong.’</p> +<p>‘The dog can steer,’ I laugh; ‘yea, +Drake’s men know<br /> + How sea-dogs hold a ship to Biscay waves.’<br +/> +Ah! when I bid the soldiers go below,<br /> + Some ’neath the hatches, some beside the +slaves,<br /> +And bid them stack their muskets all in piles<br /> + Beside the foremast, covered by a sail,<br /> +The captives guess my plan—I see their smiles<br /> +As down the waist the cozened troop defiles,<br /> + Staggering and stumbling landsmen, faint and +pale.</p> +<p>I say, they guess my plan—to send beneath<br /> + The soldiers to the benches where the slaves<br /> +Sit, armed with eager nails and eager teeth—<br /> + Hate’s nails and teeth more keen than Spanish +glaives,<br /> +Then wait until the tempest’s waxing might<br /> + Shall reach its fiercest, mingling sea and sky,<br +/> +Then seize the key, unlock the slaves, and smite<br /> +The sea-sick soldiers in their helpless plight,<br /> + Then bid the Spaniards pull at oar or die.</p> +<p>Past Ferrol Bay each galley ’gins to stoop,<br /> + Shuddering before the Biscay demon’s +breath.<br /> +Down goes a prow—down goes a gaudy poop:<br /> + ‘The Don’s “Diana” +bears the Don to death,’<br /> +Quoth I, ‘and see the “Princess” plunge and +wallow<br /> + Down purple trough, o’er snowy crest of +foam:<br /> +<a name="page432"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 432</span>See! +see! the “Royal,” how she tries to follow<br /> +By many a glimmering crest and shimmering hollow,<br /> + Where gull and petrel scarcely dare to +roam.’</p> +<p>Now, three queen-galleys pass Cape Finisterre;<br /> + The Armada, dreaming but of ocean-storms,<br /> +Thinks not of mutineers with shoulders bare,<br /> + Chained, bloody-wealed and pale, on galley-forms,<br +/> +Each rower murmuring o’er my whispered plan,<br /> + Deep-burnt within his brain in words of fire,<br /> +‘Rise, every man, to tear to death his man—<br /> +Yea, tear as only galley-captives can,<br /> + When God’s Revenge sings loud to ocean’s +lyre.’</p> +<p>Taller the spectre grows ’mid ocean’s din;<br /> + The captain sees the Skeleton and pales:<br /> +I give the sign: the slaves cry, ‘Ho for Gwynn!’<br +/> + ‘Teach them,’ quoth I, ‘the +way we grip in Wales.’<br /> +And, leaping down where hateful boatswains shake,<br /> + I win the key—let loose a storm of slaves:<br +/> +‘When captives hold the whip, let drivers quake,’<br +/> +They cry; ‘sit down, ye Dons, and row for Drake,<br /> + Or drink to England’s Queen in foaming +waves.’</p> +<p>We leap adown the hatches; in the dark<br /> + We stab the Dons at random, till I see<br /> +A spark that trembles like a tinder-spark,<br /> + Waxing and brightening, till it seems to be<br /> +A fleshless skull, with eyes of joyful fire:<br /> + Then, lo: a bony shape with lifted hands—<br +/> +A bony mouth that chants an anthem dire,<br /> +O’ertopping groans, o’ertopping Ocean’s +quire—<br /> + A skeleton with Inca’s diadem stands!</p> +<p>It sings the song I heard an Indian sing,<br /> + Chained by the ruthless Dons to burn at stake,<br /> +When priests of Tophet chanted in a ring,<br /> + Sniffing man’s flesh at roast for Christ His +sake.<br /> +The Spaniards hear: they see: they fight no more;<br /> + They cross their foreheads, but they dare not +speak.<br /> +Anon the spectre, when the strife is o’er,<br /> +<a name="page433"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 433</span>Melts +from the dark, then glimmers as before,<br /> + Burning upon the conquered galley’s beak.</p> +<p>And now the moon breaks through the night, and shows<br /> + The ‘Royal’ bearing down upon our +craft—<br /> +Then comes a broadside close at hand, which strows<br /> + Our deck with bleeding bodies fore and aft.<br /> +I take the helm; I put the galley near:<br /> + We grapple in silver sheen of moonlit surge.<br /> +Amid the ‘Royal’s’ din I laugh to hear<br /> +The curse of many a British mutineer,<br /> + The crack, crack, crack of boatswain’s biting +scourge.</p> +<p>‘Ye scourge in vain,’ quoth I, ‘scourging +for life<br /> + Slaves who shall row no more to save the +Don’;<br /> +For from the ‘Royal’s’ poop, above the +strife,<br /> + Their captain gazes at our Skeleton!<br /> +‘What! is it thou, Pirate of “El Dorado”?<br /> + He shouts in English tongue. And there, +behold!<br /> +Stands he, the devil’s commodore, Medrado.<br /> +‘Ay! ay!’ quoth I, ‘Spain owes me one +strappado<br /> + For scuttling Philip’s ship of stolen +gold.’</p> +<p>‘I come for that strappado now,’ quoth I.<br /> + ‘What means yon thing of burning +bones?’ he saith.<br /> +‘’Tis God’s Revenge cries, “Bloody Spain +shall die!”<br /> + The king of El Dorado’s name is Death.<br /> +Strike home, ye slaves; your hour is coming swift,’<br /> + I cry; ‘strong hands are stretched to save you +now;<br /> +Show yonder spectre you are worth the gift.’<br /> +But when the ‘Royal,’ captured, rides adrift,<br /> + I look: the skeleton hath left our prow.</p> +<p>When all are slain, the tempest’s wings have fled,<br /> + But still the sea is dreaming of the storm:<br /> +Far down the offing glows a spot of red,<br /> + My soul knows well it hath that Inca’s +form.<br /> +‘It lights,’ quoth I, ‘the red cross banner of +Spain<br /> + There on the flagship where Medina sleeps—<br +/> +Hell’s banner, wet with sweat of Indian’s pain,<br /> +And tears of women yoked to treasure train,<br /> + Scarlet of blood for which the New World +weeps.’</p> +<p><a name="page434"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 434</span>There +on the dark the flagship of the Don<br /> + To me seems luminous of the spectre’s glow;<br +/> +But soon an arc of gold, and then the sun,<br /> + Rise o’er the reddening billows, proud and +slow;<br /> +Then, through the curtains of the morning mist,<br /> + That take all shifting colours as they shake,<br /> +I see the great Armada coil and twist<br /> +Miles, miles along the ocean’s amethyst,<br /> + Like hell’s old snake of hate—the winged +snake.</p> +<p>And, when the hazy veils of Morn are thinned,<br /> + That snake accursed, with wings which swell and +puff<br /> +Before the slackening horses of the wind,<br /> + Turns into shining ships that tack and luff.<br /> +‘Behold,’ quoth I, ‘their floating citadels,<br +/> + The same the priests have vouched for +musket-proof,<br /> +Caracks and hulks and nimble caravels,<br /> +That sailed with us to sound of Lisbon bells—<br /> + Yea, sailed from Tagus’ mouth, for +Christ’s behoof.</p> +<p>For Christ’s behoof they sailed: see how they go<br /> + With that red skeleton to show the way<br /> +There sitting on Medina’s stem aglow—<br /> + A hundred sail and forty-nine, men say;<br /> +Behold them, brothers, galleon and galeasse—<br /> + Their dizened turrets bright of many a plume,<br /> +Their gilded poops, their shining guns of brass,<br /> +Their trucks, their flags—behold them, how they +pass—<br /> + With God’s Revenge for figurehead—to +Doom!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then Ben Jonson, the symposiarch, rises and calls upon Raleigh +to tell the story of the defeat of the Great Armada. I can +give only a stanza or two and the chorus:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span></p> +<p> The choirboys sing the matin song,<br /> +When down falls Seymour on the Spaniard’s right.<br /> + He drives the wing—a huddled throng—<br +/> +Back on the centre ships, that steer for flight.<br /> + <a name="page435"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +435</span>While galleon hurtles galeasse,<br /> +And oars that fight each other kill the slaves,<br /> + As scythes cut down the summer grass,<br /> + Drake closes on the writhing mass,<br /> +Through which the balls at closest ranges pass,<br /> + + +Skimming the waves.</p> +<p> Fiercely do galley and galeasse fight,<br /> +Running from ship to ship like living things.<br /> + With oars like legs, with beaks that smite,<br /> +Winged centipedes they seem with tattered wings.<br /> + Through smoke we see their chiefs encased<br /> +In shining mail of gold where blood congeals;<br /> + And once I see within a waist<br /> + Wild English captives ashen-faced,<br /> +Their bending backs by Spanish scourges laced<br /> + + +In purple weals.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">David +Gwynn</span> here leaps up, pale and panting, and<br /> +bares a scarred arm, but at a sign from <span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span><br /> +sits down again.</p> +<p> The Don fights well, but fights not now<br +/> +The cozened Indian whom he kissed for friend,<br /> + To pluck the gold from off the brow,<br /> +Then fling the flesh to priests to burn and rend.<br /> + He hunts not now the Indian maid<br /> +With bloodhound’s bay—Peru’s confiding +daughter,<br /> + Who saw in flowery bower or glade<br /> + The stranger’s god-like cavalcade,<br /> +And worshipped, while he planned Pizarro’s trade<br /> + + +Of rape and slaughter.</p> +<p> His fight is now with Drake and Wynter,<br +/> +Hawkins, and Frobisher, and English fire,<br /> + Bullet and cannon ball and splinter,<br /> +Till every deck gleams, greased with bloody mire:<br /> + Heaven smiles to see that battle wage,<br /> +Close battle of musket, carabine, and gun:<br /> + Oh, vainly doth the Spaniard rage<br /> + Like any wolf that tears his cage!<br /> +’Tis English sails shall win the weather gauge<br /> + + +Till set of sun!</p> +<p> <a name="page436"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 436</span>Their troops, superfluous as their +gold,<br /> +Out-numbering all their seamen two to one,<br /> + Are packed away in every hold—<br /> +Targets of flesh for every English gun—<br /> + Till, like Pizarro’s halls of blood,<br /> +Or slaughter-pens where swine or beeves are pinned,<br /> + Lee-scuppers pour a crimson flood,<br /> + Reddening the waves for many a rood,<br /> +As eastward, eastward still the galleons scud<br /> + + +Before the wind.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The chief leit-motiv of the poem is the metrical idea that +whenever a stanza ends with the word ‘sea,’ Ben +Jonson and the rest of the jolly companions break into this +superb chorus:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> The +sea!<br /> + Thus did England fight;<br /> + And shall not England smite<br /> +With Drake’s strong stroke in battles yet to be?<br /> + And while the winds have power<br /> + Shall England lose the dower<br /> + She won in that great hour—<br /> + + +The sea?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Raleigh leaves off his narrative at the point when the Armada +is driven out to the open sea. He sits down, and Gwynn, +worked into a frenzy of excitement, now starts up and finishes +the story in the same metre, but in quite a different +spirit. In Gwynn’s fevered imagination the skeleton +which he describes in his own narrative now leads the doomed +Armada to its destruction:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Gwynn</span></p> +<p> With towering sterns, with golden stems<br +/> +That totter in the smoke before their foe,<br /> + I see them pass the mouth of Thames,<br /> +With death above the billows, death below!<br /> + Who leads them down the tempest’s path,<br /> +<a name="page437"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 437</span>From +Thames to Yare, from Yare to Tweedmouth blown,<br /> + Past many a Scottish hill and strath,<br /> + All helpless in the wild wind’s wrath,<br /> +Each mainmast stooping, creaking like a lath?<br /> + + +The Skeleton!</p> +<p> At length with toil the cape is passed,<br +/> +And faster and faster still the billows come<br /> + To coil and boil till every mast<br /> +Is flecked with clinging flakes of snowy foam.<br /> + I see, I see, where galleons pitch,<br /> +That Inca’s bony shape burn on the waves,<br /> + Flushing each emerald scarp and ditch,<br /> + While Mother Carey, Orkney’s witch,<br /> +Waves to the Spectre’s song her lantern-switch<br /> + + +O’er ocean-graves.</p> +<p> The glimmering crown of Scotland’s +head<br /> +They pass. No foe dares follow but the storm.<br /> + The Spectre, like a sunset red,<br /> +Illumines mighty Wrath’s defiant form,<br /> + And makes the dreadful granite peak<br /> +Burn o’er the ships with brows of prophecy;<br /> + Yea, makes that silent countenance speak<br /> + Above the tempest’s foam and reek,<br /> +More loud than all the loudest winds that shriek,<br /> + + +‘Tyrants, ye die!’</p> +<p> The Spectre, by the Orkney Isles,<br /> +Writes ‘God’s Revenge’ on waves that climb and +dash,<br /> + Foaming right up the sand-built piles,<br /> +Where ships are hurled. It sings amid the crash;<br /> + Yea, sings amid the tempest’s roar,<br /> +Snapping of ropes, crackling of spars set free,<br /> + And yells of captives chained to oar,<br /> + And cries of those who strike for shore,<br /> +‘Spain’s murderous breath of blood shall foul no +more<br /> + + +The righteous sea!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The poem ends with the famous wassail chorus which has been +often quoted in anthologies:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="page438"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 438</span>WASSAIL +CHORUS</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Christmas knows a merry, merry place,<br /> +Where he goes with fondest face,<br /> + Brightest eye, brightest hair:<br /> +Tell the Mermaid where is that one place:<br /> + + +Where?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span></p> +<p> ’Tis by Devon’s glorious +halls,<br /> + Whence, dear Ben, I come again:<br +/> + Bright with golden roofs and walls—<br /> + El Dorado’s rare +domain—<br /> + Seem those halls when sunlight launches<br /> + Shafts of gold through leafless branches,<br /> +Where the winter’s feathery mantle blanches<br /> + + +Field and farm and lane.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p> Christmas knows a merry, merry place,<br /> + Where he goes with fondest face,<br /> + Brightest eye, brightest hair:<br +/> +Tell the Mermaid where is that one place:<br /> + + +Where?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Drayton</span></p> +<p> ’Tis where Avon’s wood-sprites +weave<br /> + Through the boughs a lace of +rime,<br /> + While the bells of Christmas Eve<br /> + Fling for Will the +Stratford-chime<br /> + O’er the river-flags embossed<br /> + Rich with flowery runes of frost—<br /> +O’er the meads where snowy tufts are tossed—<br /> + + +Strains of olden time.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p> Christmas knows a merry, merry place,<br /> + Where he goes with fondest face,<br /> + Brightest eye, brightest hair:<br +/> +Tell the Mermaid where is that one place:<br /> + + +Where?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page439"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 439</span><span +class="smcap">Shakspeare’s Friend</span></p> +<p> ’Tis, methinks, on any ground<br /> + Where our Shakspeare’s feet +are set.<br /> + There smiles Christmas, holly-crowned<br /> + With his blithest coronet:<br /> + Friendship’s face he loveth well:<br /> + ’Tis a countenance whose +spell<br /> + Sheds a balm o’er every mead and dell<br /> + + +Where we used to fret.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Christmas knows a merry, merry place,<br /> + Where he goes with fondest face,<br /> + Brightest eye, brightest hair:<br /> +Tell the Mermaid where is that one place<br /> + + +Where?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Heywood</span></p> +<p> More than all the pictures, Ben,<br /> + Winter weaves by wood or +stream,<br /> + Christmas loves our London, when<br /> + Rise thy clouds of +wassail-steam—<br /> + Clouds like these, that, curling, take<br /> + Forms of faces gone, and wake<br /> +Many a lay from lips we loved, and make<br /> + + +London like a dream.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Chorus</span></p> +<p>Christmas knows a merry, merry place,<br /> + Where he goes with fondest face,<br /> + Brightest eye, brightest hair:<br /> +Tell the Mermaid where is that one place<br /> + + +Where?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ben +Jonson</span></p> +<p> Love’s old songs shall never die,<br +/> + Yet the new shall suffer proof;<br +/> + Love’s old drink of Yule brew I,<br /> + Wassail for new love’s +behoof:<br /> + Drink the drink I brew, and sing<br /> + <a name="page440"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +440</span>Till the berried branches swing,<br /> +Till our song make all the Mermaid ring—<br /> + + +Yea, from rush to roof.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Finale</span></p> +<p> Christmas loves this merry, merry +place:—<br /> + Christmas saith with fondest +face<br /> + Brightest eye, brightest hair:<br +/> +Ben! the drink tastes rare of sack and mace:<br /> + + +Rare!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This poem, when it first appeared in the volume of ‘The +Coming of Love,’ fine as it is, was overshadowed by the +wild and romantic poem which lends its name to the volume. +But in 1902, Mr. John Lane included it in his beautiful series, +‘Flowers of Parnassus,’ where it was charmingly +illustrated by Mr. Herbert Cole, and this widened its vogue +considerably. There is no doubt that for originality, for +power, and for music, “Christmas at the +‘Mermaid’” is enough to form the base of any +poet’s reputation. It has been enthusiastically +praised by some of the foremost writers of our time. I have +permission to print only one of the letters in its praise which +the author received, but that is an important one, as it comes +from Thomas Hardy, who wrote:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I have been beginning Christmas, in a way, +by reading over the fire your delightful little ‘Christmas +at the “Mermaid”’ which it was most kind of you +to send. I was carried back right into Armada times by +David Gwynn’s vivid story: it seems remarkable that you +should have had the conjuring power to raise up those old years +so brightly in your own mind first, as to be able to exhibit them +to readers in such high relief of three dimensions, as one may +say.</p> +<p><a name="page441"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 441</span>The +absence of Shakespeare strikes me as being one of the finest +touches of the poem: it throws one into a ‘humourous +melancholy’—and we feel him, in some curious way, +more than if he had been there.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page442"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +442</span>Chapter XXVIII<br /> +CONCLUSION</h2> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Assuredly</span>,’ says Mr. +Watts-Dunton, in his essay on Thoreau, ‘there is no +profession so courageous as that of the pen.’ Well, +in coming to the end of my task—a task which has been a +labour of love—I wish I could feel confident that I have +not been too courageous—that I have satisfactorily done +what I set out to do. But I have passed my four-hundred and +fortieth page, and yet I seem to have let down only a +child’s bucket into a sea of ideas that has no limit. +Out of scores upon scores of articles buried in many periodicals +I have been able to give three or four from the +‘Athenæum,’ none from the +‘Examiner,’ and none out of the ‘Nineteenth +Century,’ ‘The Fortnightly Review,’ +‘Harper’s Magazine,’ etc. Still, I have +been able to show that a large proportion of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s scattered writings preaches the same +peculiar doctrine in a ratiocinative form which in +‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ is +artistically enunciated; that this doctrine is of the greatest +importance at the present time, when science seems to be +revealing a system of the universe so deeply opposed to the +system which in the middle of the last century seemed to be +revealed; and that this doctrine of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s is +making a very deep impression upon the generation to which I +belong. If it should be said that in speaking for the +younger generation I am speaking for a pigmy race (and I +sometimes fear that we are pigmies <a name="page443"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 443</span>when I remember the stature of our +fathers), I am content to appeal to one of the older generation, +who has spoken words in praise of Mr. Watts-Dunton as a poet, +which would demand even my courage to echo. I mean Dr. +Gordon Hake, whose volume of sonnets, entitled, ‘The New +Day,’ was published in 1890. It was these remarkable +sonnets which moved Frank Groome to dub Mr. Watts-Dunton +‘homo ne quidem unius libri,’ a literary celebrity +who had not published a single book. I have already +referred to ‘The New Day,’ but I have not given an +adequate account of this sonnet-sequence. In their nobility +of spirit, their exalted passion of friendship, their +single-souled purity of loyal-hearted love, I do not think they +have ever been surpassed. It is a fine proof of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s genius for friendship that he should be able +unconsciously to enlink himself to the souls of his seniors, his +coevals and his juniors, and that there should be between him and +the men of three generations, equal links of equal +affection. But I must not lay stress on the whimsies of +chronology and the humours of the calendar, for all Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s friends are young, and the youngest of them, +Mr. George Meredith, is the oldest. The youthfulness of +‘The New Day’ makes it hard to believe that it was +written by a septuagenarian. The dedication is full of the +fine candour of a romantic boy:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“To ‘W. T. W.,’ the friend who +has gone with me through the study of Nature, accompanied me to +her loveliest places at home and in other lands, and shared with +me the reward she reserves for her ministers and interpreters, I +dedicate this book.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The following sonnet on ‘Friendship’ expresses a +very rare mood and a very high ideal:—</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="page444"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +444</span>Friendship is love’s full beauty unalloyed<br /> + With passion that may waste in selfishness,<br /> +Fed only at the heart and never cloyed:<br /> + Such is our friendship ripened but to bless.<br /> +It draws the arrow from the bleeding wound<br /> + With cheery look that makes a winter bright;<br /> +It saves the hope from falling to the ground,<br /> + And turns the restless pillow towards the light.<br +/> +To be another’s in his dearest want,<br /> + At struggle with a thousand racking throes,<br /> +When all the balm that Heaven itself can grant<br /> + Is that which friendship’s soothing hand +bestows:<br /> +How joyful to be joined in such a love,—<br /> +We two,—may it portend the days above!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The volume consists of ninety-three sonnets of the same fine +order. Many English and American critics have highly +praised them, but not too highly. This venerable +‘parable poet’ did not belong to my generation. +Nor did he belong to Mr. Watts-Dunton’s generation. +His day was the day before yesterday, and yet he wrote these +sonnets when he was past seventy, not to glorify himself, but to +glorify his friend. They are one long impassioned appeal to +that friend to come forward and take his place among his +peers. The indifference to fame of Theodore Watts is one of +the most bewildering enigmas of literature. I have already +quoted what Gordon Hake says about the man who when the +‘New Day’ was written had not published a single +book.</p> +<p>With regard to the unity binding together all Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s writings, I can, at least, as I have shown +in the Introduction, speak with the authority of a careful +student of them. With the exception of the late Professor +Strong, who when ‘The Coming of Love’ appeared, spoke +out so boldly upon this subject in ‘Literature,’ <a +name="page445"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 445</span>I doubt if +anyone has studied those writings more carefully than I have; and +yet the difficulty of discovering the one or two quotable essays +which more than the others expound and amplify their central +doctrine has been so great that I am dubious as to whether, in +the press of my other work, I have achieved my aim as +satisfactorily as it would have been achieved by +another—especially by Professor Strong, had he not died +before he could write his promised essay upon the inner thought +of ‘Aylwinism’ in the ‘Cyclopædia of +English Literature.’ But, even if I have failed +adequately to expound the gospel of ‘Aylwinism,’ it +is undeniable that, since the publication of ‘Aylwin’ +(whether as a result of that publication or not), there has been +an amazing growth of what may be called the transcendental +cosmogony of ‘Aylwinism.’</p> +<p>Dr. Robertson Nicoll, discussing the latest edition of +‘Aylwin’—the ‘Arvon’ illustrated +edition—says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“When ‘Aylwin’ was in type, the +author, getting alarmed at its great length, somewhat mercilessly +slashed into it to shorten it, and the more didactic parts of the +book went first. Now Mr. Watts-Dunton has restored one or +two of these excised passages, notably one in which he summarizes +his well-known views of the ‘great Renascence of Wonder, +which set in in Europe at the close of the eighteenth century and +the beginning of the nineteenth.’ In one of these +passages he has anticipated and bettered Mr. Balfour’s +speculations at the recent meeting of the British +Association.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Something like the same remark was made in the +‘Athenæum’ of September 3, 1904:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The writer has restored certain didactic +passages of <a name="page446"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +446</span>the story which were eliminated before the publication +of the book, owing to its great length. Though the teaching +of the book is complete without the restorations, it seems a pity +that they were ever struck out, because they appear to have +anticipated the striking remarks of Mr. Balfour at the British +Association the other day, to say nothing of the utterances of +certain scientific writers who have been discussing the +transcendental side of Nature.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The restorations to which Dr. Nicoll and ‘The +Athenæum’ refer are excerpts from ‘The Veiled +Queen,’ by Aylwin’s father. The first of these +comes in at the conclusion of the chapter called ‘The +Revolving Cage of Circumstance’ and runs thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘The one important fact of the +twentieth century will be the growth and development of that +great Renascence of Wonder which set in in Europe at the close of +the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth.</p> +<p>The warring of the two impulses governing man—the +impulse of wonder and the impulse of acceptance—will occupy +all the energies of the next century.</p> +<p>The old impulse of wonder which came to the human race in its +infancy has to come back—has to triumph—before the +morning of the final emancipation of man can dawn.</p> +<p>But the wonder will be exercised in very different fields from +those in which it was exercised in the past. The +materialism, which at this moment seems to most thinkers +inseparable from the idea of evolution, will go. Against +their own intentions certain scientists are showing that the +spiritual force called life is the maker and not the creature of +organism—is a something outside the <a +name="page447"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 447</span>material +world, a something which uses the material world as a means of +phenomenal expression.</p> +<p>The materialist, with his primitive and confiding belief in +the testimony of the senses, is beginning to be left out in the +cold, when men like Sir W. R. Groves turn round on him and tell +him that “the principle of all certitude” is not and +cannot be the testimony of his own senses; that these senses, +indeed, are no absolute tests of phenomena at all; that probably +man is surrounded by beings he can neither see, feel, hear, nor +smell; and that, notwithstanding the excellence of his own eyes, +ears, and nose, the universe the materialist is mapping out so +deftly is, and must be, monophysical, lightless, colourless, +soundless—a phantasmagoric show—a deceptive series of +undulations, which become colour, or sound, or what not, +according to the organism upon which they fall.’</p> +<p>These words were followed by a sequence of mystical sonnets +about ‘the Omnipotence of Love,’ which showed, beyond +doubt, that if my father was not a scientific thinker, he was, at +least, a very original poet.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The second restored excerpt from ‘The Veiled +Queen’ comes in at the end of the chapter called ‘The +Magic of Snowdon,’ and runs thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I think, indeed, that I had passed into +that sufistic ecstasy expressed by a writer often quoted by my +father, an Oriental writer, Ferridoddin:—</p> +<p>With love I burn: the centre is within me;<br /> +While in a circle everywhere around me<br /> +Its Wonder lies—</p> +<p>that exalted mood, I mean, described in the great chapter on +the Renascence of Wonder which forms the very core and +heart-thought of the strange book so strangely destined <a +name="page448"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 448</span>to govern +the entire drama of my life, ‘The Veiled Queen.’</p> +<p>The very words of the opening of that chapter came to me:</p> +<p>‘The omnipotence of love—its power of knitting +together the entire universe—is, of course, best understood +by the Oriental mind. Just after the loss of my dear wife I +wrote the following poem called “The Bedouin Child,” +dealing with the strange feeling among the Bedouins about girl +children, and I translated it into Arabic. Among these +Bedouins a father in enumerating his children never counts his +daughters, because a daughter is considered a disgrace.</p> +<p>Ilyàs the prophet, lingering ’neath the moon,<br +/> + Heard from a tent a child’s heart-withering +wail,<br /> + Mixt with the message of the nightingale,<br /> +And, entering, found, sunk in mysterious swoon,<br /> +A little maiden dreaming there alone.<br /> + She babbled of her father sitting pale<br /> + ’Neath wings of Death—’mid sights +of sorrow and bale,<br /> +And pleaded for his life in piteous tone.</p> +<p>“Poor child, plead on,” the succouring prophet +saith,<br /> + While she, with eager lips, like one who tries<br /> + To kiss a dream, stretches her arms and cries<br /> +To Heaven for help—“Plead on; such pure +love-breath,<br /> +Reaching the throne, might stay the wings of Death<br /> + That, in the Desert, fan thy father’s +eyes.”</p> +<p>The drouth-slain camels lie on every hand;<br /> + Seven sons await the morning vultures’ +claws;<br /> + ’Mid empty water-skins and camel maws<br /> +The father sits, the last of all the band.<br /> +He mutters, drowsing o’er the moonlit sand,<br /> + “Sleep fans my brow; sleep makes us all +pashas;<br /> + Or, if the wings are Death’s, why Azraeel +draws<br /> +A childless father from an empty land.”</p> +<p><a name="page449"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +449</span>“Nay,” saith a Voice, “the wind of +Azraeel’s wings<br /> + A child’s sweet breath has stilled: so God +decrees:”<br /> + A camel’s bell comes tinkling on the +breeze,<br /> +Filling the Bedouin’s brain with bubble of springs<br /> + And scent of flowers and shadow of wavering +trees,<br /> +Where, from a tent, a little maiden sings.</p> +<p>‘Between this reading of Nature, which makes her but +“the superficial film” of the immensity of God, and +that which finds a mystic heart of love and beauty beating within +the bosom of Nature herself, I know no real difference. +Sufism, in some form or another, could not possibly be confined +to Asia. The Greeks, though strangers to the mystic element +of that Beauty-worship which in Asia became afterwards Sufism, +could not have exhibited a passion for concrete beauty such as +theirs without feeling that, deeper than Tartarus, stronger than +Destiny and Death, the great heart of Nature is beating to the +tune of universal love and beauty.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With regard to the two sonnets quoted above, a great poet has +said that the method of depicting the power of love in them is +sublime. ‘The Slave girl’s Progress to +Paradise,’ however, is equally powerful and equally +original. The feeling in the ‘Bedouin Child’ +and in ‘The Slave Girl’s Progress to Paradise’ +is exactly like that which inspires ‘The Coming of +Love.’ When Percy sees Rhona’s message in the +sunrise he exclaims:—</p> +<blockquote><p>But now—not all the starry Virtues seven<br +/> + Seem strong as she, nor Time, nor Death, nor +Night.<br /> + And morning says, ‘Love hath such godlike +might<br /> +That if the sun, the moon, and all the stars,<br /> +Nay, all the spheral spirits who guide their cars,<br /> +Were quelled by doom, Love’s high-creative leaven<br /> + Could light new worlds.’ If, then, this +Lord of Fate,<br /> + <a name="page450"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +450</span>When death calls in the stars, can re-create,<br /> +Is it a madman’s dream that Love can show<br /> +Rhona, my Rhona, in yon ruby glow,<br /> + And build again my heaven?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The same mystical faith in the power of love is passionately +affirmed in the words of ‘The Spirit of the Sunrise,’ +addressed to the bereaved poet:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Though Love be mocked by Death’s obscene +derision,<br /> + Love still is Nature’s truth and Death her +lie;<br /> + Yet hard it is to see the dear flesh die,<br /> +To taste the fell destroyer’s crowning spite<br /> +That blasts the soul with life’s most cruel sight,<br /> +Corruption’s hand at work in Life’s transition:<br /> + This sight was spared thee: thou shalt still +retain<br /> + Her body’s image pictured in thy brain;<br /> +The flowers above her weave the only shroud<br /> +Thine eye shall see: no stain of Death shall cloud<br /> + Rhona! Behold the +vision!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Some may call this too mystical—some may dislike it on +other accounts—but few will dream of questioning its +absolute originality.</p> +<p>Let me now turn to those words of Mr. Balfour’s to which +the passages quoted from ‘The Veiled Queen’ have been +compared. In his presidential address to the British +Association, entitled, ‘Reflections suggested by the New +Theory of Matter,’ he said:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“We claim to found all our scientific +opinions on experience: and the experience on which we found our +theories of the physical universe is our sense of perception of +that universe. That is experience; and in this region of +belief there is no other. Yet the conclusions which thus +profess to be entirely founded upon experience are to all +appearance fundamentally opposed to it; our knowledge <a +name="page451"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 451</span>of reality +is based upon illusion, and the very conceptions we use in +describing it to others, or in thinking of it ourselves, are +abstracted from anthropomorphic fancies, which science forbids us +to believe and nature compels us to employ.</p> +<p>Observe, then, that in order of logic sense perceptions supply +the premisses from which we draw all our knowledge of the +physical world. It is they which tell us there is a +physical world; it is on their authority that we learn its +character. But in order of causation they are effects due +(in part) to the constitution of our orders of sense. What +we see depends, not merely on what there is to be seen, but on +our eyes. What we hear depends, not merely on what there is +to hear, but on our ears.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I may mention here a curious instance of the way in which any +idea that is new is ridiculed, and of the way in which it is +afterwards accepted as a simple truth. One of the reviewers +of ‘Aylwin’ was much amused by the description of the +hero’s emotions when he stood in the lower room of Mrs. +Gudgeon’s cottage waiting to be confronted upstairs by +Winifred’s corpse, stretched upon a squalid +mattress:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“At the sight of the squalid house in which +Winifred had lived and died I passed into a new world of +horror. Dead matter had become conscious, and for a second +or two it was not the human being before me, but the rusty iron, +the broken furniture, the great patches of brick and dirty mortar +where the plaster had fallen from the walls,—it was these +which seemed to have life—a terrible life—and to be +talking to me, telling me what I dared not listen to about the +triumph of evil over good. I knew that the woman was still +speaking, but for a time I heard no <a name="page452"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 452</span>sound—my senses could receive +no impressions save from the sinister eloquence of the dead and +yet living matter around me. Not an object there that did +not seem charged with the wicked message of the heartless +Fates.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Fancy,’ said the reviewer, ‘any man out of +Bedlam feeling as if dead matter were alive!’</p> +<p>Well, apart from the psychological subtlety of this passage, +our critic must have been startled by the declaration lately made +by a sane man of science, that there is no such thing as dead +matter—and that every particle of what is called dead +matter is alive and shedding an aura around it!</p> +<p>Had the mass of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s scattered writings +been collected into volumes, or had a representative selection +from them been made, their unity as to central idea with his +imaginative work, and also the importance of that central idea, +would have been brought prominently forward, and then there would +have been no danger of his contribution to the latest +movement—the anti-materialistic movement—of English +thought and English feeling being left unrecognized. Lost +such teachings as his never could have been, for, as Minto said +years ago, their colour tinges a great deal of the literature of +our time. The influence of the +‘Athenæum,’ not only in England, but also in +America and on the Continent, was always very great—and +very great of course must have been the influence of the writer +who for a quarter of a century spoke in it with such +emphasis. Therefore, if Mr. Watts-Dunton had himself +collected or selected his essays, or if he had allowed any of his +friends to collect or select them, this book of mine would not +have been written, for more competent hands would have undertaken +the task. But a study of work which, originally <a +name="page453"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 453</span>issued in +fragments, now lies buried ‘full fathom five’ in the +columns of various journals, could, I felt, be undertaken only by +a cadet of letters like myself. There are many of us +younger men who express views about Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work +which startle at times those who are unfamiliar with it. +And I, coming forward for the moment as their spokesman, have +long had the desire to justify the faith that is in us, and in +the wide and still widening audience his imaginative work has +won. But I doubt if I should have undertaken it had I +realized the magnitude of the task. For it must be +remembered that the articles, called ‘reviews,’ are +for the most part as unlike reviews as they can well be. No +matter what may have been the book placed at the head of the +article, it was used merely as an opportunity for the writer to +pour forth generalizations upon literature and life, or upon the +latest scientific speculations, or upon the latest reverie of +philosophy, in a stream, often a torrent, coruscating with +brilliancies, and alive with interwoven colours like that of the +river in the mountains of Kaf described in his birthday sonnet to +Tennyson. Take, for instance, that great essay on the +Psalms which I have used as the key-note of this study. The +book at the head of the review was not, as might have been +supposed, a discourse learned, or philosophical, or emotional, +upon the Psalms—but a little unpretentious metrical version +of the Psalms by Lord Lorne. Only a clear-sighted and +daring editor would have printed such an article as a +review. But I doubt if there ever was a more prescient +journalist than he who sat in the editorial chair at that +time. A man of scholarly accomplishments and literary +taste, he knew that an article such as this would be a huge +success; would resound through the world of letters. The +article, I believe, <a name="page454"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 454</span>was more talked about in literary +circles than any book that had come out during that month.</p> +<p>Again, take that definition of humour which I seized upon +(page 384) to illustrate my exposition of that wonderful +character in ‘Aylwin’—Mrs. Gudgeon, a +definition that seems, as one writer has said, to make all other +talk about humour cheap and jejune. It is in a review of an +extremely futile history of humour. Now let the reader +consider the difficult task before a writer in my +position—the task of searching for a few among the +innumerable half-remembered points of interest that turn up in +the most unexpected places. Of course, if the space +allotted to me by my publishers had been unlimited, and if my +time had been unlimited, I should have been able to give so large +a number of excerpts from the articles as to make my selection +really representative of what has been called the “modern +Sufism of ‘Aylwin.’” But in this regard +my publishers have already been as liberal and as patient as +possible. After all, the best, as well as the easiest way, +to show that ‘Aylwin,’ and ‘The Coming of +Love,’ are but the imaginative expression of a poetic +religion familiar to the readers of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +criticism for twenty-five years, is to quote an illuminating +passage upon the subject from one of the articles in the +‘Athenæum.’ Moreover, I shall thus escape +what I confess I dread—the sight of my own prose at the end +of my book in juxtaposition to the prose of a past master of +English style:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The time has not yet arrived for poetry to +utilize even the results of science; such results as are offered +to her are dust and ashes. Happily, however, nothing in +science is permanent save mathematics. As a great man <a +name="page455"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 455</span>of science +has said, ‘everything is provisional.’ Dr. +Erasmus Darwin, following the science of his day, wrote a long +poem on the ‘Loves of the Plants,’ by no means a +foolish poem, though it gave rise to the ‘Loves of the +Triangles,’ and though his grandson afterwards discovered +that the plants do not love each other at all, but, on the +contrary, hate each other furiously—‘struggle for +life’ with each other, ‘survive’ against each +other—just as though they were good men and +‘Christians.’ But if a poet were to set about +writing a poem on the ‘Hates of the Plants,’ nothing +is more likely than that, before he could finish it, Mr. Darwin +will have discovered that the plants do love after all; just +as—after it was a settled thing that the red tooth and claw +did all the business of progression—he delighted us by +discovering that there was another factor which had done half the +work—the enormous and very proper admiration which the +females have had for the males from the very earliest forms +upwards. In such a case, the ‘Hates of the +Plants’ would have become ‘inadequate.’ +Already, indeed, there are faint signs of the physicists +beginning to find out that neither we nor the plants hate each +other quite so much as they thought, and that Nature is not quite +so bad as she seems. ‘She is an Æolian +harp,’ says Novalis, ‘a musical instrument whose +tones are the re-echo of higher strings within us.’ +And after all there are higher strings within us just as real as +those which have caused us to ‘survive,’ and poetry +is right in ignoring ‘interpretations,’ and giving us +‘Earthly Paradises’ instead. She must wait, it +seems; or rather, if this aspiring ‘century’ will +keep thrusting these unlovely results of science before her eyes, +she must treat them as the beautiful girl Kisāgotamī +treated the ugly pile of charcoal. A certain rich man woke +up one morning and found that all his enormous wealth was <a +name="page456"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 456</span>turned to a +huge heap of charcoal. A friend who called upon him in his +misery, suspecting how the case really stood, gave him certain +advice, which he thus acted upon. ‘The Thuthe, +following his friend’s instructions, spread some mats in +the bazaar, and, piling them upon a large heap of his property +which was turned into charcoal, pretended to be selling it. +Some people, seeing it, said, “Why does he sell +charcoal?” Just at this time a young girl, named +Kisāgotamī, who was worthy to be owner of the property, +and who, having lost both her parents, was in a wretched +condition, happened to come to the bazaar on some business. +When she saw the heap, she said, “My lord Thuthe, all the +people sell clothes, tobacco, oil, honey, and treacle; how is it +that you pile up gold and silver for sale?” The +Thuthe said, “Madam, give me that gold and +silver.” Kisāgotamī, taking up a handful of +it, brought it to him. What the young girl had in her hand +no sooner touched the Thuthe’s hand than it became gold and +silver.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I cannot find a clearer note for the close of this book than +that which sounds in one of the latest and one of the finest of +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s sonnets. It was composed on the +last night of the Nineteenth Century, a century which will be +associated with many of the dear friends Mr. Watts-Dunton has +lost, and, as I must think, associated also with himself. +The lines have a very special charm for me, because they show the +turn which the poet’s noble optimism has taken; they show +that faith in my own generation which for so many years has +illumined his work, and which has endeared him to us all. I +wish I could be as hopeful as this nineteenth century poet with +regard to the poets who will carry the torch of <a +name="page457"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 457</span>imagination +and romance through the twentieth century; but whether or not +there are any poets among us who are destined to bring in the +Golden Fleece, it is good to see ‘the Poet of the +Sunrise’ setting the trumpet of optimism to his lips, and +heralding so cheerily the coming of the new argonauts:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">THE ARGONAUTS OF THE +NEW AGE</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the +poet</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">[In starlight, listening to the +chimes in the<br /> +distance, which sound clear through the<br /> +leafless trees.</p> +<p>Say, will new heroes win the ‘Fleece,’ ye +spheres<br /> + Who—whether around some King of Suns ye +roll<br /> + Or move right onward to some destined goal<br /> +In Night’s vast heart—know what Great Morning +nears?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the +stars</span></p> +<p>Since Love’s Star rose have nineteen hundred years<br /> + Written such runes on Time’s remorseless +scroll,<br /> + Impeaching Earth’s proud birth, the human +soul,<br /> +That we, the bright-browed stars, grow dim with tears.</p> +<p>Did those dear poets you loved win Light’s release?<br +/> + What ‘ship of Hope’ shall sail to such a +world?</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[The night passes, and morning +breaks<br /> +gorgeously over the tree top.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the +poet</span></p> +<p>Ye fade, ye stars, ye fade with night’s decease!<br /> + Above yon ruby rim of clouds empearled—<br /> + There, through the rosy flags of morn +unfurled—<br /> +I see young heroes bring Light’s ‘Golden +Fleece.’</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">The +End</span></p> +<h2><a name="page459"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +459</span>Index</h2> +<p>Abbey, Edwin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span></p> +<p>Abershaw, Jerry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +<p>Abiogenesis, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span></p> +<p>Absolute humour: see Humour, absolute and relative</p> +<p>Accent, English verse governed by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page344">344</a></span></p> +<p>Acceptance, instinct of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span>; Horace as poet of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span></p> +<p>Acton, Lord, place given ‘Aylwin’ by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page5">5</a></span></p> +<p>Actors, two types of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +<p>Actresses, English prejudice against, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +<p>Adams, Davenport, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +<p>Addison, ‘softness of touch’ in portraiture, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span></p> +<p>‘Adonais,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +<p>‘Æneid,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +<p>Æschylus, reference to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page324">324</a></span></p> +<p>‘Agamemnon,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span></p> +<p>Alabama, Lowell and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page295">295</a></span></p> +<p>Aldworth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page286">286</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span></p> +<p>Allen, Grant, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page207">207</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page309">309</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span></p> +<p>Allingham, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page213">213</a></span></p> +<p>Ambition v. Nature-Worship, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103</a></span></p> +<p>America, Watts-Dunton’s friends in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page295">295</a></span>; his +feelings towards, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page297">297</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span></p> +<p>Anacharsis, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page384">384</a></span></p> +<p>Anapæsts, Swinburne and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page383">383</a></span></p> +<p>Anglomania and Anglophobia, Lowell’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page299">299</a></span></p> +<p>Anglo-Saxon, law-abidingness of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page309">309</a></span>; conception of life, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page381">381</a></span></p> +<p>Animals, man’s sympathy with <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page38">38</a></span>–9, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span>–86</p> +<p>‘Anne Boleyn,’ Watts-Dunton’s criticism of +Lilian Adelaide Neilson’s acting in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page117">117</a></span></p> +<p>Anonymity in criticism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +<p>Anthropology, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +<p>Apemantus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page250">250</a></span></p> +<p>Appleton, Prof., Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences +of:—met at Bell Scott’s and Rossetti’s; Hegel +on the brain; asks Watts to write for ‘Academy,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page187">187</a></span>; +wants him to pith the German transcendentalists in two columns, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page188">188</a></span>; in a +rage; Watts explains why he has gone into enemy’s camp, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page201">201</a></span>; a +Philistine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span></p> +<p>‘Arda Viraf,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span></p> +<p>‘Argonauts of the New Age,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page457">457</a></span></p> +<p>Argyll, Duchess of: see Louise, Princess</p> +<p>Argyll, Duke of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span>: see Lorne, Marquis of</p> +<p>Aristocrats, in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span></p> +<p>Aristotle, unities of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page341">341</a></span></p> +<p>Armada, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span></p> +<p>‘Armadale,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page348">348</a></span></p> +<p>Arnold, Sir Edwin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page228">228</a></span></p> +<p>Arnold, Matthew, ‘The Scholar Gypsy,’ +Borrow’s criticism of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span>; Rhona Boswell and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page114">114</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +<p>Artifice, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page460"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +460</span>Athenæum, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>–4; editor of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page10">10</a></span>; seventieth +birthday of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page210">210</a></span>–213; influence of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page452">452</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s connection with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page188">188</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page212">212</a></span>–27, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page315">315</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page418">418</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page454">454</a></span></p> +<p>Augustanism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span>; pyramid of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +<p>Austen, Jane, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>‘Australia’s Mother,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span></p> +<p>‘Ave Atque Vale,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +<p>Avon, River, Watts-Dunton’s love for, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Aylwin</span>,’ Renascence of +Wonder exemplified in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span>; popularity of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page7">7</a></span>; principles of +romantic art expressed in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span>; Justin McCarthy’s opinion of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>; +‘Renascence of Wonder,’ original title of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page11">11</a></span>; attempted +identification of characters in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span>; ‘Veiled Queen,’ +dominating influence of author, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>; Cyril Aylwin, identification with +A. E. Watts, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span>; genesis of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span>; nervous +phases in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span>; D’Arcy, identification with +Rossetti, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span>–45; description of Rossetti +in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span>–169; landslip in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span>; Welsh +acceptation of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page312">312</a></span>–318; Snowdon ascent, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page317">317</a></span>; +‘Encyc. Brit.’ on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page321">321</a></span>; naïveté in style of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page328">328</a></span>; +youthfulness of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page328">328</a></span>; richness in style, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page330">330</a></span>–38; +Galimberti, Mme., criticism of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338</a></span>; ‘Athenæum’ +canons observed in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page343">343</a></span>; begun in metre, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page342">342</a></span>; critical +analysis of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span>–362; ‘softness of +touch’ in portraiture, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page351">351</a></span>; love-passion, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page362">362</a></span>; Swinburne +on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page363">363</a></span>; +Meredith on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span>; Groome on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span>; novel of +the two Bohemias, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page368">368</a></span>; editions of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page368">368</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page377">377</a></span>; enigmatic +nature of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span>; Dr. Nicoll on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page375">375</a></span>; Celtic +element in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page378">378</a></span>; Jacottet on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page380">380</a></span>; two +heroines of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page363">363</a></span>; spirituality of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page372">372</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page375">375</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page378">378</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page380">380</a></span>; inner +meaning of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page372">372</a></span>–81; heart-thought of +contained in the ‘Veiled Queen,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span>; +‘Saturday Review’ on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page377">377</a></span>; motive of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page389">389</a></span>, +‘Arvon’ edition, restoration of excised passages, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span>–50; modern Sufism of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page454">454</a></span>; quotations +from, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page330">330</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page333">333</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page336">336</a></span></p> +<p>Aylwin, Cyril, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span></p> +<p>Aylwin, Henry, at 16 Cheyne Walk, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span>; autobiographical element in, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page322">322</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page356">356</a></span>; see +‘Aylwin’; his mother, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page352">352</a></span></p> +<p>Aylwin, Philip: see Watts, J. O.</p> +<p>Aylwin, Percy, contrasted with Henry Aylwin, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page361">361</a></span>; the part +he plays in the ‘Coming of Love,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page401">401</a></span>–11; +autobiographical element in—see description of Swinburne +swimming, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span></p> +<p>Aylwinism, Mr. Balfour and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page446">446</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page450">450</a></span>; growth of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page445">445</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Bacon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page43">43</a></span></p> +<p>Badakhshân, ruby hills of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span></p> +<p>Balfour, A. J., Aylwinism and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page446">446</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page450">450</a></span></p> +<p>Ballads, old, wonder in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +<p>‘Ballads and Sonnets,’ Rossetti’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page271">271</a></span></p> +<p>Balliol, Jowett’s dinner parties at, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page280">280</a></span></p> +<p>Balzac, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +<p>Banville, his ‘Le Baiser,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +<p>Basevi, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +<p>Bateson, Mary, her paper on Crab House Nunnery, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +<p>Baudelaire, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span></p> +<p>Baynes, invites Watts to write for ‘Encyc. Brit.,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page256">256</a></span>–7</p> +<p><a name="page461"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +461</span>Beddoes, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +<p>‘Bedouin Child, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page448">448</a></span></p> +<p>‘Belfast News-Letter,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span></p> +<p>‘Belle Dame Sans Merci, La,’ wonder and mystery +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +<p>Bell, Mackenzie: on Watts-Dunton’s study of music: see +‘Poets and Poetry of the Century,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page38">38</a></span>: also +‘Shadow on the Window Blind’</p> +<p>‘Bells, The,’ Watts on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +<p>Benson, A. C, his monograph on Rossetti, <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span>–40</p> +<p>Berners, Isopel, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page369">369</a></span></p> +<p>Beryl-Songs, in ‘Rose Mary,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span>–40</p> +<p>Betts Bey, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +<p>Bible, The, Watts-Dunton’s essay on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page228">228</a></span>–41</p> +<p>Bible Rhythm, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page238">238</a></span></p> +<p>Biogenesis, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span></p> +<p>Bird, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page306">306</a></span></p> +<p>Birdwood, Sir George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page409">409</a></span></p> +<p>Bisset, animal trainer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +<p>Black, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s friendship +with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span>; their resemblance to each other, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page185">185</a></span>; an +amusing mistake, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page186">186</a></span></p> +<p>Blackstone, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page309">309</a></span></p> +<p>Blank verse, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span></p> +<p>Boar’s Hill, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page282">282</a></span></p> +<p>Bodleian, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page282">282</a></span></p> +<p>Body, its functions—humour of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Bognor, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +<p>Bohemians, in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span></p> +<p>Bohemias, Novel of the Two, ‘Aylwin’ as, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page368">368</a></span></p> +<p>Borrow, George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span>; method of learning languages, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s description of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span>–106, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page108">108</a></span>–16; +characteristics of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span>–106, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page368">368</a></span>; his gypsy +women scenic characters, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page390">390</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s +reminiscences of:—his first meeting with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page95">95</a></span>; his shyness, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page99">99</a></span>; Watts +attacks it; tries Bamfylde Moore Carew; then tries beer, the +British bruiser, philology, Ambrose Gwinett, etc., <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page100">100</a></span>; a stroll +in Richmond Park; visit to ‘Bald-Faced Stag’; Jerry +Abershaw’s sword; his gigantic green umbrella, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page101">101</a></span>–2; +tries Whittlesea Mere; Borrow’s surprise; vipers of Norman +Cross; Romanies and vipers, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>; disclaims taint of +printers’ ink; ‘Who are you?’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page105">105</a></span>; an East +Midlander; the Shales Mare, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span>; Cromer sea best for swimming; +rainbow reflected in Ouse and Norfolk sand, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page106">106</a></span>; goes to a +gypsy camp; talks about Matthew Arnold’s +‘Scholar-Gypsy,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span>; resolves to try it on gypsy +woman; watches hawk and magpie, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span>; meets Perpinia Boswell; +‘the popalated gypsy of Codling Gap,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page110">110</a></span>; Rhona +Boswell, girl of the dragon flies; the sick chavo; forbids Pep to +smoke, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span>; description of Rhona, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page113">113</a></span>; the +Devil’s Needles; reads Glanville’s story; Rhona bored +by Arnold, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span>; hatred of tobacco, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page115">115</a></span>; last sight +of Borrow on Waterloo Bridge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span>; sonnet on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +<p>Boswell, Perpinia, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span>–12</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Boswell, Rhona</span>, her +‘Haymaking Song,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span>–5; her prototype, first +meeting with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span>; description from +‘Aylwin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page64">64</a></span>; East Anglia and ‘Cowslip +Land’ linked by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span>; description of in unpublished +romance, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span>–15; her beauty, <a +name="page462"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 462</span><span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page113">113</a></span>; courageous +nature of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page366">366</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page406">406</a></span>; presented dramatically, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page356">356</a></span>; type of +English heroine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page366">366</a></span>; Tennyson’s +‘Maud’ compared with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page413">413</a></span>; George Meredith on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page418">418</a></span>; humour of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page421">421</a></span>; +‘Rhona’s Letter,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page402">402</a></span>–5; rhyme-pattern of same, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page419">419</a></span></p> +<p>Boswell, Sylvester, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +<p>Bounty, mutineers of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page310">310</a></span></p> +<p>Boxhill, Meredith’s house at, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page283">283</a></span></p> +<p>Bracegirdle, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +<p>‘Breath of Avon: To English-speaking Pilgrims on +Shakespeare’s Birthday,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +<p>British Association, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page450">450</a></span></p> +<p>Brontë, Charlotte and Emily, Nature instinct of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span>; novels of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page346">346</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Brown, Charles Brockden, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page308">308</a></span></p> +<p>Brown, Lucy Madox: see Rossetti, Mrs. W. M.</p> +<p>Brown, Madox, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page12">12</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>; his Eisteddfod, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page136">136</a></span>; portrait +of, story connected with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page274">274</a></span></p> +<p>Brown, Oliver Madox, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page274">274</a></span>–6</p> +<p>Browne, Sir Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page337">337</a></span></p> +<p>Browning, Robert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span>; compared with Victor Hugo, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page126">126</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—chaffs him in +‘Athenæum’; chided by Swinburne, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page222">222</a></span>, sees him +at Royal Academy private view; Lowell advises him to slip away; +bets he will be more cordial than ever; Lowell astonished at his +magnanimity, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page222">222</a></span>–23; the review in question, +‘Ferishtah’s Fancies,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page223">223</a></span>–26</p> +<p>Brynhild, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page365">365</a></span></p> +<p>‘Brynhild on Sigurd’s Funeral Pyre,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page366">366</a></span></p> +<p>Buchanan, Robert, his attacks on Rossetti, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>–6; +Watts-Dunton’s impeachment of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span></p> +<p>‘Buddhaghosha,’ Parables of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page218">218</a></span></p> +<p>Buddhism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +<p>Bull, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page224">224</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page299">299</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page300">300</a></span></p> +<p>Burbage, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +<p>Burgin, G. B., his interview with Watts-Dunton, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +<p>Burns, Robert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +<p>Butler, Bishop, share in Renascence of Wonder, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +<p>‘B.V.,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +<p>‘Byles the Butcher,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span>–16</p> +<p>Byron, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span></p> +<p>‘By the North Sea,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page271">271</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Caine, Hall, Rossetti ‘Recollections’ by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page151">151</a></span>–4</p> +<p>Calderon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span></p> +<p>Cam, Ouse and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span></p> +<p>‘Cambridge Chronicle,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span></p> +<p>Cambridge University, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>; George Dyer, Frend, Hammond and, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page40">40</a></span>; Prince +of Wales at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +<p>Campbell, Lady Archibald, open-air plays organized by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +<p>Capri girl, Rhona Boswell like, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +<p>Carew, Bamfylde Moore, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +<p>Carlyle, Thomas, River Ouse, libellous description of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page28">28</a></span>; his heresy +of ‘work,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span>–71; ‘Frederick the +Great,’ Watts-Dunton on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page192">192</a></span></p> +<p>Carr, Comyns, contributor to ‘Examiner,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +<p>Casket Lighthouse, girl in—poems by Swinburne and +Watts-Dunton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page413">413</a></span></p> +<p>Cathay, pyramid of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span></p> +<p>‘Catriona,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span></p> +<p>‘Caught in the Ebbing Tide,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +<p>Cavendish, Ada, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span></p> +<p>‘Celebrities of the Century,’ memoir of +Watts-Dunton in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span></p> +<p>Celtic temper, ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page313">313</a></span>–15; +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page378">378</a></span>; +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page398">398</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page463"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +463</span>Cervantes, Watts-Dunton on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page197">197</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page246">246</a></span>–52; +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page382">382</a></span></p> +<p>Chalk Farm, Westland Marston’s theatrical reunions at, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page117">117</a></span>; +Parnassians at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span></p> +<p>‘Chambers’s Cyclopædia of English +Literature,’ Watts-Dunton’s ‘Renascence of +Wonder’ article, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>; Douglas, James, article on +Watts-Dunton by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span></p> +<p>‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia,’ article on +Watts-Dunton in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s contributions +to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>; +Sonnet, Watts-Dunton’s essay on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +<p>Chamisso, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +<p>Channel Islands, visit of Swinburne and Watts-Dunton to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page268">268</a></span>–9</p> +<p>Chapman, George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page267">267</a></span></p> +<p>Chaucer, his place in English poetry, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page43">43</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page294">294</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page394">394</a></span></p> +<p>Chelsea, Rossetti’s residence at, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page137">137</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page155">155</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page162">162</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page165">165</a></span></p> +<p>Cheyne Walk, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span>: see Chelsea</p> +<p>‘Children of the Open Air,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page98">98</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +<p>Children, Rossetti on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span></p> +<p>Chinese Cabinet, Rossetti’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page267">267</a></span></p> +<p>‘Christabel,’ wonder and mystery of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span>; quotation +from, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +<p>Christmas, ‘The Pines’ and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page93">93</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page94">94</a></span>; Rosicrucian, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +<p>“Christmas Tree at ‘The Pines,’ The,” +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +<p>“Christmas at the ‘Mermaid,’” <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page32">32</a></span>; metrical +construction of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s preface to +sixth edition, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page424">424</a></span>; written at Stratford-on-Avon, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page423">423</a></span>; +opening chorus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span>; description of +Shakespeare’s return to Stratford-on-Avon, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page425">425</a></span>–26; +quotations from, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span>–40; chief leit-motiv of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page436">436</a></span>; +Wassail Chorus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page438">438</a></span>; ‘The Golden +Skeleton,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page428">428</a></span>–34, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page436">436</a></span>–37; +Raleigh and the Armada, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page434">434</a></span>–36; letter from Thomas Hardy +about, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page440">440</a></span>–41</p> +<p>Circumstance, as villain, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page349">349</a></span>; as humourist, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page248">248</a></span>; as +harlequin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Civilization, definition of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +<p>Climate, English, Lowell on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page300">300</a></span></p> +<p>Clive, Kitty, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +<p>Cockerell, Sydney C., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span></p> +<p>Coincidence, long arm of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page348">348</a></span></p> +<p>Cole, Herbert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page440">440</a></span></p> +<p>Coleridge, S. T., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s poetry, +kinship to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page417">417</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page419">419</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page324">324</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338</a></span>; on accent in verse, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page344">344</a></span></p> +<p>Coleridge, Watts-Dunton’s Sonnet to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page417">417</a></span>; +Meredith’s opinion of same, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page417">417</a></span></p> +<p>Collaboration, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span></p> +<p>Collier, Jeremy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span></p> +<p>Collier, John P., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +<p>Collins, Wilkie, fiction of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page348">348</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Colonies, Watts-Dunton on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page273">273</a></span></p> +<p>Colvin, Sidney, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page216">216</a></span></p> +<p>Comédie Française: see Théâtre +Française</p> +<p>Comedy: and Farce, distinction between, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page258">258</a></span>; of +repartee, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span></p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Coming of Love, The</span>’: +Renascence of Wonder exemplified in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span>; popularity of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page7">7</a></span>; principles of +Romantic Art explained in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span>; humour in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page24">24</a></span>; locality of +Gypsy Song, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span>; publication of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page389">389</a></span>; history +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page395">395</a></span>; +inner meaning of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span>; form of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page411">411</a></span>; opening +sonnets, incident connected with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page413">413</a></span>; quotations from, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page402">402</a></span>–11, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page450">450</a></span>; +references to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page376">376</a></span></p> +<p>Common Prayer, Book of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page231">231</a></span></p> +<p>Congreve, his wit and humour, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page258">258</a></span>–60</p> +<p><a name="page464"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +464</span>Convincement, artistic, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span></p> +<p>Coombe, open-air plays at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +<p>Cooper, Fenimore, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page306">306</a></span></p> +<p>Corkran, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page278">278</a></span></p> +<p>Corneille, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +<p>Cosmic humour, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span></p> +<p>Cosmogony, New, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9</a></span>; see Renascence of Wonder, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page373">373</a></span></p> +<p>Cosmos, joke of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page386">386</a></span></p> +<p>Cowper, W., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +<p>Cowslip Country, Watts-Dunton’s association with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +<p>Craigie, Mrs., intellectual energy of the provinces asserted +by, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span>; +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page325">325</a></span></p> +<p>Criticism, anonymity in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page210">210</a></span>; new ideas in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page344">344</a></span></p> +<p>Cromer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span>; Swinburne and Watts-Dunton visit, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>Cromwell, Oliver, Slepe Hall, supposed residence at, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page35">35</a></span>; his elder +wine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span>–7</p> +<p>Cruikshank, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>‘Cyclopædia of English Literature’: see +‘Chambers’s Cyclopædia’</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Daddy this and Daddy that, It’s,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +<p>Dana, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span></p> +<p>Dante, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page412">412</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span></p> +<p>D’Arcy (see Rossetti, D. G.), character in +‘Aylwin’ originally ‘Gordon’ (Gordon +Hake), <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span>; +Rossetti as prototype of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span>–2, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page139">139</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page140">140</a></span>–45, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page165">165</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page336">336</a></span></p> +<p>Darwin, Charles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page455">455</a></span></p> +<p>Darwin, Erasmus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page455">455</a></span></p> +<p>Death, Pain and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>‘Débats, Journal des,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page400">400</a></span></p> +<p>De Castro, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span>–43, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page166">166</a></span>: see +Howell, C. A.</p> +<p>Decorative renascence, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +<p>Deerfoot, the Indian, race won at Cambridge by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +<p>‘Defence of Guinevere,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +<p>Defoe, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>De Lisle, Leconte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +<p>‘Demon Lover, The,’ wonder and mystery expressed +by, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +<p>Dénouement in fiction, dialogue and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page346">346</a></span></p> +<p>De Quincey, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page197">197</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page220">220</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span></p> +<p>Dereham, Borrow as, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +<p>Destiny, in drama, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +<p>Devil’s Needles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span></p> +<p>Dialect in poetry—Meredith on Rhona Boswell’s +letters, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span></p> +<p>Dialogue in fiction, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span></p> +<p>Dichtung, Wahrheit and, in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +<p>Dickens, Lowell’s strictures on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page295">295</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page325">325</a></span>; hardness +of touch in portraiture, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page384">384</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>‘Dickens returns on Christmas Day,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +<p>Dionysius of Halicarnassus, on the sibilant in poetry, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page287">287</a></span>; substance +and form in poetry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page341">341</a></span></p> +<p>Disraeli, ‘softness of touch’ in St. Aldegonde, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span>; +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page353">353</a></span></p> +<p>‘Divina Commedia,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +<p>‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,’ Watts-Dunton’s +criticism of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page218">218</a></span></p> +<p>Dogs, telepathy and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span>–6</p> +<p>Döppelganger idea, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +<p>Drama, surprise in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span>; famous actors and actresses, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page117">117</a></span>; +table talk about ‘The Bells’ and ‘Rip Van +Winkle,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span>: see Actors, Actresses, +Æschylus, Banville, Burbage, Comedy and Farce, Congreve, +Etheredge, Ford, Garrick, Got, Hamlet, Hugo, Kean, Marlowe, +Robson, Shakspeare, Sophocles, Cyril Tourneur, Vanbrugh, Webster, +Wells, Wycherley</p> +<p>Dramatic method in fiction, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span></p> +<p>Drayton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page438">438</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page465"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 465</span>Drury +Lane, ragged girl in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +<p>Dryden, the first great poet of ‘acceptance,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span></p> +<p>Du Chaillu, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +<p>Duffield, contributor to ‘Examiner,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +<p>Dukkeripen, The Lovers’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +<p>Dumas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span></p> +<p>Du Maurier, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span></p> +<p>Dunn, Treffry, De Castro’s conduct to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page143">143</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s portrait painted by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page171">171</a></span>; drawings +by, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page277">277</a></span></p> +<p>Dunton, family of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +<p>Dyer, George, St. Ives and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Earthly Paradise, The,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +<p>East Anglia, gypsies of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span>; Omar Khayyàm and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page72">72</a></span>–85; +Watts-Dunton’s poem on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span>–5; road-girls in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page390">390</a></span></p> +<p>Eastbourne, Swinburne and Watts visit, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>East Enders, in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span></p> +<p>Eliot, George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page372">372</a></span></p> +<p>Ellis, F. S., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span></p> +<p>Emerson, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span></p> +<p>‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ +Watts-Dunton’s connection with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page256">256</a></span>; his Essay +on Poetry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span>; on Vanbrugh, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page258">258</a></span></p> +<p>‘Encyclopædia, Chambers’s’: see +‘Chambers’s Encyc.’</p> +<p>England, its beloved dingles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span>–70; Borrow and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page102">102</a></span>; love of +the wind and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span></p> +<p>‘English Illustrated Magazine,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page287">287</a></span></p> +<p>Epic method in fiction, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span></p> +<p>Erckmann-Chatrian, ‘Juif Polonais’ by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +<p>Erskine, his pet leeches, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +<p>‘Esmond,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page328">328</a></span></p> +<p>Etheredge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span></p> +<p>‘Examiner,’ contributors to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s articles in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Fairy Glen,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page315">315</a></span></p> +<p>‘Faith and Love,’ Wilderspin’s picture, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page331">331</a></span></p> +<p>Falstaff, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page382">382</a></span></p> +<p>Farce, comedy and, distinction between, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page258">258</a></span></p> +<p>Farringford, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page286">286</a></span></p> +<p>‘Father Christmas in Famine Street,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +<p>Febvre, as Saltabadil, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +<p>Fens, the, description of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span></p> +<p>Feridun, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page225">225</a></span></p> +<p>‘Ferishtah’s Fancies,’ Watts’s review +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page223">223</a></span></p> +<p>Ferridoddin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page447">447</a></span></p> +<p>Fiction, genius at work in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span>; importance of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page208">208</a></span>; beauty in, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page221">221</a></span>; +atmosphere in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page308">308</a></span>; ‘artistic +convincement’ in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span>; methods of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page345">345</a></span> et seq.; +epic and dramatic methods in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span>; ‘softness of touch’ +in, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page349">349</a></span> +et seq.</p> +<p>Fielding, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page305">305</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page321">321</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page347">347</a></span>; ‘softness of touch’ +in, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Findlay, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +<p>FitzGerald, Edward, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s Omarian poems, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page80">80</a></span>–1</p> +<p>Fitzroy Square, Madox Brown’s symposia at, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page136">136</a></span>–7</p> +<p>Flaubert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +<p>‘Fleshly School of Poetry,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span>–46</p> +<p>‘Florilegium Latinum,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +<p>Fonblanque, Albany, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span></p> +<p>Ford, spirit of wonder in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +<p>‘Fortnightly Review,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page442">442</a></span></p> +<p>Foxglove bells, fairies and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +<p>France, Anatole, irony of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span></p> +<p>France, dread of the wind, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span></p> +<p>Fraser, the brothers, water-colour drawings by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +<p>Freedom, modern, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page466"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +466</span>French Revolution, its relation to the Renascence of +Wonder, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +<p>Frend, William, revolt against English Church, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +<p>Friendship, passion of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span>–48; sonnet (Dr. Gordon +Hake), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page444">444</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Gainsborough, ‘softness of touch’ in portraits by, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span></p> +<p>Galimberti, Alice, her appreciation of Watts-Dunton’s +work, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page347">347</a></span></p> +<p>Gamp, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page384">384</a></span></p> +<p>‘Garden of Sleep,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>Garnett, Dr., his views on ‘Renascence of Wonder,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page11">11</a></span>; +contributions to ‘Examiner,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +<p>Garrick, David, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +<p>Gaskell, Mrs., softness of touch, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span></p> +<p>Gautier, Théophile, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +<p>Gawtry, in ‘Night and Morning,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page349">349</a></span></p> +<p>Gelert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span>–5</p> +<p>Genius, wear and tear of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +<p>Gentility, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +<p>‘Gentle Art of Making Enemies,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page353">353</a></span></p> +<p>German music, fascination of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +<p>German romanticists, the terrible-grotesque in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +<p>Gestaltung, Goethe on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page398">398</a></span></p> +<p>Ghost, laughter of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Gladstone, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +<p>Glamour, Celtic, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page313">313</a></span>–15; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page378">378</a></span></p> +<p>‘Glittering Plain,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>Glyn, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +<p>God as beneficent Showman, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Goethe, his critical system, Watts-Dunton’s treatise on +Poetry compared to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page257">257</a></span>; his theory as to enigmatic nature +of great works of art, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page394">394</a></span>; Gestaltung in art, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page398">398</a></span></p> +<p>‘Golden Hand, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +<p>‘Gordon,’ Dr. G. Hake as, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +<p>Gordon, Lady Mary, Swinburne and Watts-Dunton’s visits +to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>Gorgios and Romanies, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page389">389</a></span></p> +<p>Gosse, Edmund, contributes to ‘Examiner,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span>; his study +of Etheredge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span></p> +<p>Got, M., Watts on his acting in ‘Le Roi +s’Amuse,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +<p>Grande dame, Aylwin’s mother as type of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page352">352</a></span></p> +<p>Grant, James, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>‘Graphic,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +<p>‘Grave by the Sea, A,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +<p>‘Great Thoughts,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span></p> +<p>Grecian Saloon, Robson at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span></p> +<p>Greek mind, the, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +<p>Green Dining Room at 16 Cheyne Walk, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +<p>Groome, F. H., account of J. K. Watts by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span>; intimacy +with Watts-Dunton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span>; Watts-Dunton and the gypsies, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page72">72</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s obituary notice of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span>; on gypsies +in ‘Aylwin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page351">351</a></span>; ‘Kriegspiel,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page364">364</a></span>; his review +of ‘Aylwin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page372">372</a></span>; gypsy humour—anecdote, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page420">420</a></span></p> +<p>Grotesque, the terrible-, in art, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +<p>Gryengroes: see Gypsies</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gudgeon, Mrs</span>.,’ humour +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page382">382</a></span>–84, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page388">388</a></span>; prototype +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page383">383</a></span></p> +<p>‘Guide to Fiction,’ Baker’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span></p> +<p>Gwinett, Ambrose, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +<p>Gwynn, David, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span></p> +<p>‘Gypsy Folk-tales,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page420">420</a></span></p> +<p>‘Gypsy Heather,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +<p>Gypsies, Watts-Dunton’s acquaintance with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page67">67</a></span>; +superstitions of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span>; ‘prepotency of +transmission’ in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page362">362</a></span>; in ‘Aylwin,’ Groome +on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span>; +‘Aylwin,’ gypsy characters of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page368">368</a></span>; +‘Times’ on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span>; superiority <a +name="page467"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 467</span>of gypsy +women to men, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page392">392</a></span>; characteristics of same, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page390">390</a></span>; music, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page392">392</a></span>; +humour of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page420">420</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Hacker, Arthur, A.R.A., illustration of ‘John the +Pilgrim’ by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span></p> +<p>Haggard, Rider, telepathy and dumb animals, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page82">82</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s influence on writings of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page415">415</a></span></p> +<p>Haggis, the stabbing of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page193">193</a></span></p> +<p>Hake, Gordon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page12">12</a></span>; ‘Aylwin,’ connection +with, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page90">90</a></span>; +physician to Rossetti, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span>–91; his view of +Rossetti’s melancholia and remorse—cock and bull +stories about ill-treatment of his wife, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span>; physician to +Lady Ripon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span>; Borrow and Watts-Dunton introduced +by, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page95">95</a></span>; +poems connected with Watts-Dunton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span>; ‘The New Day’ (see that +title)</p> +<p>Hake, Thomas St. E., author’s gratitude for assistance +from, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page10">10</a></span>; +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page11">11</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page12">12</a></span>; ‘Notes +and Queries,’ papers on ‘Aylwin’ by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span>; J. O. Watts +identified with Philip Aylwin by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>; account of J. O. Watts by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page57">57</a></span>; A. E. Watts, +description by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span>; ‘Aylwin,’ genesis of, +account by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>; account of his father’s +relations with Rossetti, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span>–91; Hurstcote and Cheyne Walk, +‘green dining room,’ identified by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span>; William +Morris, facts concerning, given by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span></p> +<p>Hallam, Henry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page281">281</a></span></p> +<p>‘Hamlet,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span></p> +<p>Hammond, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span>–1</p> +<p>‘Hand and Soul,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +<p>Hardy, Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page186">186</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span>; letter from, <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page440">440</a></span>–41</p> +<p>‘Harper’s Magazine,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page122">122</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page442">442</a></span></p> +<p>Harte, Bret, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s estimate of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page302">302</a></span>–11; histrionic gifts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page302">302</a></span>; meeting +with; drive round London music-halls, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page303">303</a></span>; +‘Holborn,’ ‘Oxford’; Evans’s +supper-rooms; Paddy Green; meets him again at breakfast; a fine +actor lost, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page303">303</a></span></p> +<p>Hartley, on sexual shame, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page255">255</a></span></p> +<p>Hawk and magpie, Borrow and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +<p>Hawthorne, Nathaniel, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page305">305</a></span></p> +<p>‘Haymaking Song,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +<p>Hazlitt, W., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page261">261</a></span></p> +<p>Hegel, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page187">187</a></span></p> +<p>Heine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span></p> +<p>Heminge and Condell, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span></p> +<p>Hemingford Grey, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +<p>Hemingford Meadow, description, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +<p>Henley, W. E., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page284">284</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page322">322</a></span></p> +<p>Herder, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +<p>Herkomer, Prof. H., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +<p>Herne, the ‘Scollard,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page402">402</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page405">405</a></span></p> +<p>Herodotus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span></p> +<p>Hero, English type of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page365">365</a></span></p> +<p>‘Hero, New,’ The, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page287">287</a></span></p> +<p>Heroines, ‘Aylwin,’ a story with two, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page363">363</a></span></p> +<p>Hesiod, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page394">394</a></span></p> +<p>Heywood, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page439">439</a></span></p> +<p>Higginson, Col., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span></p> +<p>Hodgson, Earl, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +<p>Homer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page355">355</a></span></p> +<p>Hood, Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +<p>Hopkins, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page233">233</a></span></p> +<p>Horne, R. H., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span>; challenge to Swinburne and +Watts-Dunton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span></p> +<p>Hotei, Japanese god of contentment, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page385">385</a></span></p> +<p>‘House of the Wolfings,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>Houssaye, Arsène, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page218">218</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page468"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +468</span>Houghton, Lord, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page183">183</a></span></p> +<p>Howell, Charles Augustus, prototype of De Castro, q.v.</p> +<p>Hueffer, Dr. F., Wagner exponent, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s intimacy with, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +<p>Hueffer, Ford Madox, testimony to the friendship of +Watts-Dunton and Rossetti, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span></p> +<p>Hugo, Victor, ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>–30; +Watts-Dunton’s sonnet to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span>; dread of the wind, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page370">370</a></span></p> +<p>Humboldt, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span></p> +<p>Humour, Watts-Dunton’s definition of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page196">196</a></span>; absolute +and relative, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page384">384</a></span>; cosmic, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204</a></span>; renascence +of wonder in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page242">242</a></span>; metaphysical meaning of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page246">246</a></span>–55</p> +<p>Hunt, Holman, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +<p>Hunt, Leigh, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page261">261</a></span></p> +<p>Hunt, Rev. J., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Idler,’ interview with Watts-Dunton in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +<p>‘Illuminated Magazine,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +<p>Imagination, lyrical and dramatic, in ‘Aylwin,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page356">356</a></span>–61</p> +<p>Imaginative power in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page345">345</a></span></p> +<p>Imaginative representation, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page398">398</a></span></p> +<p>Imperialism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page273">273</a></span></p> +<p>Incongruity, basis of humour, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page385">385</a></span></p> +<p>Indecency, definition of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page255">255</a></span></p> +<p>Ingelow, Jean, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page369">369</a></span></p> +<p>Interviewing, skit on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span></p> +<p>Ireland, hero-worship in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +<p>Irony, Anatole France’s, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span>; in human intercourse, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page251">251</a></span></p> +<p>Irving, Sir Henry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span></p> +<p>Isis, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page332">332</a></span></p> +<p>Isle of Wight, Swinburne and Watts-Dunton visit, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Jacottet, Henri, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page347">347</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page380">380</a></span></p> +<p>Jámi, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +<p>‘Jane Eyre,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page342">342</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span></p> +<p>Japanese, race development of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +<p>Jaques, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page250">250</a></span></p> +<p>‘Jason,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +<p>Jefferson, Joseph, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +<p>Jeffrey, Francis, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span></p> +<p>Jenyns, Soame, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Jerrold, Douglas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span></p> +<p>Jessopp, Dr., ‘Ups and Downs of an Old Nunnery,’ +reference to Dunton family in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +<p>Jewish-Arabian Renascence: see Renascence</p> +<p>‘John the Pilgrim,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page416">416</a></span></p> +<p>Johnson, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page326">326</a></span></p> +<p>Jolly-doggism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span></p> +<p>Jones, Sir Edward Burne, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +<p>Jonson, Ben, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span></p> +<p>‘Joseph and His Brethren,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +<p>Joubert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span></p> +<p>‘Journal des Débats,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span></p> +<p>Journalism, mendacious, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span></p> +<p>Jowett, Benjamin, Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page279">279</a></span>; pen +portrait of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page280">280</a></span>; see ‘Last Walk from +Boar’s Hill,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page282">282</a></span></p> +<p>‘Jubilee Greeting at Spithead to the Men of Greater +Britain,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +<p>‘Juif-Polonais,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Kaf, mountains of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page286">286</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page453">453</a></span></p> +<p>Kean, Edmund, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +<p>Keats, John, spirit of wonder in poetry of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page293">293</a></span>; richness +of style, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span></p> +<p>Kelmscott Manor, Rossetti’s residence at, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page155">155</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page162">162</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page164">164</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page165">165</a></span>; +identification of Hurstcote with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>; causeries at, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>Kelmscott Press, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +<p>Kernahan, Coulson, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page413">413</a></span></p> +<p>Kew, Lord, Thackeray’s, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page351">351</a></span></p> +<p>Keynes, T., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page267">267</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page469"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +469</span>Khayyàm, Omar, ‘Toast to,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span>; Sonnet on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span>; +‘The Pines,’ Groome and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span></p> +<p>‘Kidnapped,’ Watts-Dunton’s review of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page215">215</a></span>; letter +from Stevenson concerning same, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page216">216</a></span></p> +<p>‘King Lear,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page355">355</a></span></p> +<p>Kisāgotamī, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page456">456</a></span></p> +<p>‘Kissing the May Buds,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page406">406</a></span></p> +<p>Knight, Joseph, acquaintance with J. O. Watts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span>; as dramatic +critic, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +<p>Knowles, James, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span>: see also ‘Nineteenth +Century’</p> +<p>‘Kriegspiel,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span></p> +<p>‘Kubla Khan,’ wonder and mystery of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +<p>Kymric note, in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page313">313</a></span>–15</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Lamb, Charles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page250">250</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Lancing, Swinburne and Watts visit, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>Landor, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page271">271</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page352">352</a></span></p> +<p>Landslips at Cromer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>Lane, John, wishes to compile bibliography of +Watts-Dunton’s articles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span>; publication of ‘Coming of +Love,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page396">396</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page440">440</a></span></p> +<p>Lang, Andrew, critical work of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page207">207</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span></p> +<p>Language, inadequacy of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span></p> +<p>‘Language of Nature’s Fragrancy,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page269">269</a></span></p> +<p>Laocoon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span></p> +<p>‘Last Walk from Boar’s Hill, The,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page282">282</a></span></p> +<p>Latham, Dr. R. G., acquaintance with J. O. Watts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +<p>‘Lavengro,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page368">368</a></span></p> +<p>‘Lear, King,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page355">355</a></span></p> +<p>Le Gallienne, R., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +<p>Leighton, Lord, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +<p>Leslie, G. D., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span></p> +<p>Leutzner, Dr. Karl, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +<p>Lever, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Lewis, Leopold, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +<p>Ligier, as Triboulet in ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +<p>Lineham, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +<p>Litany, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page231">231</a></span></p> +<p>‘Literature,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page244">244</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span></p> +<p>‘Literature of power,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +<p>‘Liverpool Mercury,’ article on +‘Aylwin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page12">12</a></span></p> +<p>Livingstone, J. K. Watts’s friendship with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +<p>Llyn Coblynau, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page317">317</a></span></p> +<p>London, Watts-Dunton’s life in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page87">87</a></span> et seq.; its +low-class women, humourous pictures of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page383">383</a></span></p> +<p>Lorne, Marquis of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page453">453</a></span>: see Argyll, Duke of</p> +<p>‘Lothair,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page353">353</a></span></p> +<p>Louise, Princess (Duchess of Argyll), Rossetti’s alleged +rudeness to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page156">156</a></span></p> +<p>‘Love brings Warning of Natura Maligna,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page414">414</a></span></p> +<p>‘Love for Love,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page258">258</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page260">260</a></span></p> +<p>‘Love is Enough,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +<p>Love-passion in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page362">362</a></span></p> +<p>‘Lovers of Gudrun,’ written in twelve hours, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span></p> +<p>‘Loves of the Plants,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page455">455</a></span></p> +<p>‘Loves of the Triangles,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page455">455</a></span></p> +<p>Lovell, Sinfi, Nature instinct of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span>; +‘Amazonian Sinfi,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span>; true representation of gypsy +girl, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page317">317</a></span>; Meredith’s praise of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page363">363</a></span>; Groome on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page364">364</a></span>; +Richard Whiteing on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span>; dominating character of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page363">363</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page365">365</a></span>; prototype +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page368">368</a></span>–9; beauty of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page391">391</a></span></p> +<p>Low, Sidney, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page244">244</a></span></p> +<p>Lowell, James Russell, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page222">222</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s critical +work, appreciation of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page399">399</a></span>; sonnet on the death of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page300">300</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—meets him at dinner, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page295">295</a></span>; <a +name="page470"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 470</span>he attacks +England; directs diatribe at Watts; he retorts; a verbal duel, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page296">296</a></span>; +recognition; cites Watts’s first article, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page298">298</a></span>; his +anglophobia turns into anglomania, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page299">299</a></span>; likes English climate, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page300">300</a></span></p> +<p>Lowestoft, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +<p>Luther, his pigs, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +<p>‘Lycidas,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +<p>Lyell (geologist), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span>; J. K. Watts’s acquaintance +with, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +<p>Lytton, Bulwer, novels of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page349">349</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>McCarthy, Justin, ‘Aylwin,’ criticism of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>; hospitality +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page186">186</a></span></p> +<p>MacColl, Norman, invites Watts-Dunton to write for +‘Athenæum,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span></p> +<p>Macready, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +<p>Macrocosm, microcosm and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +<p>‘Madame Bovary,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +<p>Madonna, by Parmigiano, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +<p>‘Magazine of Art,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span></p> +<p>Magpie, hawk and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +<p>Maguelonne, Jeanne Samary as, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +<p>Man, final emancipation of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page47">47</a></span>: see also Renascence of Wonder, +‘Aylwinism.’</p> +<p>‘Man and Wife,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page348">348</a></span></p> +<p>Manchester School, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page273">273</a></span></p> +<p>‘Mankind, the Great Man,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +<p>Manns, August, Crystal Palace Concerts conducted by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +<p>Manu, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span></p> +<p>‘M.A.P.,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page278">278</a></span></p> +<p>Mapes, Walter, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span></p> +<p>Marcianus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span></p> +<p>Marlowe, Christopher, spirit of wonder in poetry of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page329">329</a></span>; friend of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page426">426</a></span></p> +<p>Marot, Clement, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page229">229</a></span></p> +<p>Marryat, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Marshall, John, medical adviser to Rossetti, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +<p>Marston, Dr. Westland:—symposia at Chalk Farm; famous +actors and actresses, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>; table talk about ‘The +Bells’ and ‘Rip Van Winkle,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span>; on staff +of ‘Examiner,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>; the sub-Swinburnians at the +Marston Mornings; the divine Théophile; the Gallic +Parnassus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +<p>Marston, Philip Bourke, Louise Chandler Moulton’s memoir +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page10">10</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>; Oliver +Madox Brown’s friendship with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page276">276</a></span></p> +<p>Martin, Sir Theodore, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page156">156</a></span></p> +<p>Matter, dead, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page411">411</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page452">452</a></span>; new theory of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page451">451</a></span></p> +<p>Meredith, George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page283">283</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page284">284</a></span>; +literary style of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page328">328</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s Sonnet on +Coleridge, opinion of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page417">417</a></span>; ‘Coming of Love,’ +opinion of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span></p> +<p>‘Meredith, ‘To George, Sonnet, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page284">284</a></span></p> +<p>Meredithians, mock, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span></p> +<p>‘Merry Wives of Windsor,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page293">293</a></span></p> +<p>Methuen, A. M. S., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page216">216</a></span></p> +<p>Metrical art, new, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page343">343</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page344">344</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page412">412</a></span></p> +<p>Microcosm, of St. Ives, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span>–7; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page35">35</a></span>; characters +in the, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span>–60</p> +<p>Middleton, Dr. J. H., his friendship with Morris, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page172">172</a></span>; +‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ collaboration in, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>Mill, John Stuart, education of, Watts-Dunton’s early +education compared with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +<p>Miller, Joaquin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span></p> +<p>Milton, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span>; period of wonder in poetry ended +with, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>; +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>; +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page293">293</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page471"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +471</span>Minto, Prof., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s connection +with ‘Examiner’ and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>–88, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page256">256</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—neighbours in Danes +Inn; editing ‘Examiner’; secures Watts; first article +appears; Bell Scott’s party; Scott wants to know name of +new writer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>; Watts slates himself, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page185">185</a></span>; +Minto’s Monday evening symposia, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page185">185</a></span></p> +<p>Molière, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +<p>Montaigne—value of leisure—quotation, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +<p>Morley, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +<p>Morris, Mrs., Rossetti’s picture painted from, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page172">172</a></span>; reference +to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page179">179</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +<p>Morris, William, ‘Quarterly Review’ article on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>; +‘Chambers’s Cyclopædia,’ article on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span>; +‘Odyssey,’ his translation of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s criticism of poems by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span>; intimacy +with Watts-Dunton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s monograph +on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page170">170</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>–77; indifference to +criticism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>; anecdotes of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page179">179</a></span>–82; +generosity of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span>; death of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page178">178</a></span>–79; +Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—Marston mornings at +Chalk Farm; ‘nosey Latin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page136">136</a></span>; Wednesday +evenings at Danes Inn; Swinburne, Watts, Marston, Madox Brown and +Morris, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>; at Kelmscott, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page170">170</a></span>; passion +for angling, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span>; snoring of young owls, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page171">171</a></span>; causeries +at Kelmscott, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>; the only reviews he read, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span>; the little +carpetless room, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span>; writes 750 lines in twelve hours, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span>; the +crib on his desk, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>; offers to bring out an +édition-de-luxe of Watts’s poems; gets subscribers; +a magnificent royalty, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span>; presentation copies; extravagant +generosity; ‘All right, old chap’; ‘Ned Jones +and I,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span>; ‘Algernon pay £10 for +a book of mine!’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span>; disgusted with Stead, the music +hall singer and dancer; ‘damned tomfoolery,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +<p>Moulton, Louise Chandler, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span></p> +<p>Mounet-Sully, as François I in Le Roi s’Amuse, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +<p>‘Much Ado about Nothing,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page260">260</a></span></p> +<p>Murchison, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +<p>‘Murder considered as one of the Fine Arts,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page220">220</a></span></p> +<p>Muret, Maurice, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span></p> +<p>Music, Watts-Dunton’s knowledge of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page38">38</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +<p>Myers, F. W. H., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Natura Benigna,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span>; the keynote of +‘Aylwinism,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page411">411</a></span></p> +<p>‘Natura Maligna,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page408">408</a></span>; Sir George Birdwood on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page409">409</a></span></p> +<p>Natura Mystica, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +<p>‘Nature’s Fountain of Youth,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page268">268</a></span></p> +<p>Nature, ‘Poetic Interpretation of,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204</a></span>; as +humourist, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page386">386</a></span></p> +<p>Nature-worship, Shintoism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span>; ambition and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page103">103</a></span></p> +<p>‘Nature-worshippers,’ Dictionary for, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +<p>Neilson, Julia, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span></p> +<p>Neilson, Lilian Adelaide, Watts-Dunton’s criticism of +her acting, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>–18</p> +<p>Nelson, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page365">365</a></span></p> +<p>‘New Day, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span>–64, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page312">312</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page396">396</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page443">443</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page472"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 472</span>New +Year, sonnets on morning of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page409">409</a></span></p> +<p>‘News from Nowhere,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>‘Nibelungenlied,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span></p> +<p>Nicol, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span></p> +<p>Nicoll, Dr. Robertson, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span>; collection of Watts-Dunton’s +essays suggested by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span>; “Significance of +‘Aylwin,’” essay by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page372">372</a></span>; Renascence +of Wonder in Religion, articles on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page375">375</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span></p> +<p>Neilson, Lilian Adelaide, Watts-Dunton’s appreciation +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span></p> +<p>‘Night and Morning,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page349">349</a></span></p> +<p>‘Nineteenth Century,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page442">442</a></span></p> +<p>‘Nin-ki-gal, the Queen of Death,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page235">235</a></span></p> +<p>Niobe, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span></p> +<p>Niton Bay, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>‘Noctes Ambrosianæ, Comedy of,’ +Watts-Dunton’s review of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page190">190</a></span>–201; Lowell’s opinion +of same, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page298">298</a></span></p> +<p>Norman Cross, vipers of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span></p> +<p>Norris, H. E., ‘History of St. Ives’ (reference +to), <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page40">40</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>; River Ouse, +praise of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +<p>North, Christopher: see Wilson, Professor</p> +<p>‘Northern Farmer,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Norwich horse fair, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +<p>‘Notes and Queries,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page316">316</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page317">317</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page318">318</a></span></p> +<p>‘Notre Dame de Paris,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +<p>Novalis, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page247">247</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page455">455</a></span></p> +<p>Novel, importance of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span>; of manners, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page308">308</a></span>; see +Fiction.</p> +<p>Novelists, absurdities of popular, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Nutt, Alfred, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Octopus of the Golden Isles,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page148">148</a></span></p> +<p>‘Odyssey,’ Morris’s translation of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page208">208</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page341">341</a></span></p> +<p>‘Œdipus Egyptiacus,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page226">226</a></span></p> +<p>Olympic, Robson at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span></p> +<p>Omar, Caliph, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +<p>Omar Khayyàm Club, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +<p>Omarian Poems, Watts-Dunton’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page78">78</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page80">80</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +<p>‘Omnipotence of Love.’ The, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page287">287</a></span></p> +<p>‘Orchard, The,’ Niton Bay, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>O’Shaughnessy, Arthur, ‘Marston Nights,’ +presence at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +<p>Ouse, River, poems on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>; Carlyle’s libel of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page28">28</a></span>–9</p> +<p>Owen, Harry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page317">317</a></span></p> +<p>Oxford Union, Rossetti’s lost frescoes at, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page162">162</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Pain and Death, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>Palgrave, F. T., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span></p> +<p>‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span></p> +<p>Palmerston, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page295">295</a></span></p> +<p>Pamphlet literature, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +<p>‘Pandora,’ Rossetti’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +<p>‘Pantheism’: Dr. Hunt’s book, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +<p>Parable poetry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page224">224</a></span></p> +<p>Paradis artificiel, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page248">248</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span></p> +<p>Paragraph-mongers, Rossetti and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span></p> +<p>Parmigiano, Madonna by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +<p>Parsimony, verbal, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span></p> +<p>Partridge, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page382">382</a></span></p> +<p>Patrick, Dr. David, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span></p> +<p>Penn, William, St. Ives, his death there, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page41">41</a></span></p> +<p>‘Perfect Cure,’ The, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +<p>‘Peter Schlemihl,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +<p>Petit Bot Bay, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span></p> +<p>Phelps, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +<p>Philistia, romance carried into, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page327">327</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page386">386</a></span></p> +<p>Philistinism, actresses and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +<p>‘Piccadilly,’ Watts-Dunton writes for, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page301">301</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page353">353</a></span></p> +<p>‘Pickwick,’ trial scene in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>‘Pines, The,’ residence of Watts-Dunton and +Swinburne: <a name="page473"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +473</span>Christmas at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span>–4; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page262">262</a></span> et seq.; +works of art at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page266">266</a></span></p> +<p>Plato, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page341">341</a></span></p> +<p>Plot-ridden, ‘Aylwin’ not, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page348">348</a></span></p> +<p>Poe, Edgar Allan, on ‘homely’ note in fiction, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page325">325</a></span>; +‘The Raven,’ originality of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page419">419</a></span></p> +<p>‘Poems by the Way,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +<p>Poetic prose: see Prose</p> +<p><i>ποιήσις</i>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page341">341</a></span></p> +<p><i>ποιητής</i>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page340">340</a></span></p> +<p>Poetry, wonder element in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>; English Romantic School, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page17">17</a></span>; humour in, +question of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span>; parables in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page224">224</a></span>; blank +verse, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span>; popular and artistic, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page293">293</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s Essay on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page354">354</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span>; Herodotus, Plato, Aristotle, +Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Bacon on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page341">341</a></span>; difference +between prose and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>; rhetoric and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page340">340</a></span>; poetic +impulse, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span>; sincerity and, conscience in, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page394">394</a></span>; +imagination in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span>; Zoroaster’s definition of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page398">398</a></span>; +originality in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page419">419</a></span></p> +<p>‘Poets and Poetry of the Century,’ Mackenzie +Bell’s study of Watts-Dunton in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +<p>Pollock, Walter, contributor to ‘Examiner,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +<p>Pope, Alexander, periwig poetry of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span></p> +<p>‘Poppyland,’ Watts-Dunton visits, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>Portraiture, ethics of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +<p>‘Prayer to the Winds,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +<p>Pre-Raphaelite movement, definition of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>; poets, <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page160">160</a></span>–61</p> +<p>Priam, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page355">355</a></span></p> +<p>Primitive poetry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span></p> +<p>Prinsep, Val, his vindication of Rossetti, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span></p> +<p>Printers’ ink, taint of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span></p> +<p>Priory Barn, Robson at <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span></p> +<p>Prize-fighters, gypsy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page392">392</a></span></p> +<p>‘Prophetic Pictures at Venice,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +<p>Prose, poetic, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>: difference between poetry and, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page339">339</a></span>; see +also ‘Aylwin,’ Bible Rhythm, Common Prayer, Book of +Litany; Manu; Ruskin</p> +<p>Psalms, Watts-Dunton on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page228">228</a></span>–41</p> +<p>Publicity, evils of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span></p> +<p>Purnell, Thomas, acquaintance with J. O. Watts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Quarterly Review,’ on Renascence of Wonder, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>–17; on +friendship between Morris and Watts-Dunton, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>Queen Katherine, Watts’s sonnet on Ellen Terry as, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page122">122</a></span></p> +<p>Quickly, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page382">382</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Rabelais, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page196">196</a></span>–200, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Racine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +<p>Rainbow, The Spirit of the, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +<p>Raleigh, Sir Walter, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span>; on ‘command of the +sea,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page427">427</a></span></p> +<p>Rappel, Le, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +<p>Reade Charles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page348">348</a></span>; hardness of touch, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span></p> +<p>Rehan, Ada, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +<p>Reid, Sir Wemyss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span></p> +<p>‘Relapse, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span></p> +<p>Relative humour: see Humour, absolute and relative</p> +<p>Religion, Renascence of Wonder in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page375">375</a></span>; poetic, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page455">455</a></span></p> +<p>‘Reminiscence of Open-Air Plays,’ Epilogue, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +<p>Renascence, decorative, connection with pre-Raphaelite +movement, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +<p>Renascence, Jewish-Arabian, connection with instinct of +wonder, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +<p>Renascence of religion, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +<p>Renascence of Wonder, exemplified <a name="page474"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 474</span>in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>; origin of +phrase, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span>; meaning of phrase, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page13">13</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page17">17</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span>; Garnett +on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page11">11</a></span>, +French Revolution, cause of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span>; pre-Raphaelite movement, connection +with, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s article on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>; in Philistia, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page327">327</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page328">328</a></span>; in +religion, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page375">375</a></span>; ‘Coming of Love, +The,’ the most powerful expression of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s Treatise on Poetry, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page257">257</a></span>; +‘Aylwin,’ passages on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page446">446</a></span>; foreign critics on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page325">325</a></span></p> +<p>Repartee, comedy of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span></p> +<p>Representation, imaginative, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page398">398</a></span></p> +<p>Rhetoric, Poetry and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Rhona Boswell</span>, see Boswell.</p> +<p>‘Rhona’s Letter,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page402">402</a></span></p> +<p>Rhyme colour, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page412">412</a></span></p> +<p>Rhys, Ernest, ‘Aylwin’ dedicated to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page312">312</a></span>; +‘Song of the Wind,’ paraphrase by; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page313">313</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page377">377</a></span></p> +<p>Rhythm, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page412">412</a></span>: see Bible Rhythm</p> +<p>Richardson, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Richmond Park, Borrow in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +<p>Ripon, Lady, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +<p>‘Rip Van Winkle,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +<p>‘Rivista d’Italia’: see Galimberti, +Madame</p> +<p>‘Robinson Crusoe,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span></p> +<p>Robinson, F. W., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page12">12</a></span></p> +<p>Robson, actor, J. O. Watts’s admiration for, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page57">57</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page127">127</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +<p>Rogers, S., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +<p>‘Roi s’Amuse, Le,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +<p>Romanies, Gorgios and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page389">389</a></span>; see Gypsies</p> +<p>Romantic movement, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span>–25</p> +<p>‘Romany Rye,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>‘Romeo and Juliet,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span></p> +<p>‘Roots of the Mountains,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>‘Rose Mary,’ Watts-Dunton’s advice to +Rossetti concerning, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +<p>Rosicrucian Christmas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +<p>Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span>; Watts-Dunton on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page17">17</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page21">21</a></span>; +‘Spirit of Wonder’ expressed by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span>; +‘Pandora,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span>; Poems of, lack of humour in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page24">24</a></span>; +‘Watts’s magnificent Star Sonnet,’ his +appreciation of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>; Omar Khayyàm, translation +discovered by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span>; his insomnia; Dr. Hake as his +physician; grief for his wife’s death; his melancholia; +cock-and-bull stories as to his treatment of his wife; their +origin; wild and whirling words; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span>–91; stay at Roehampton, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span>; Cheyne Walk +reunions, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span>; Watts-Dunton, affection for, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span>–69; Watts-Dunton’s +influence on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span>; type of female beauty invented +by, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page140">140</a></span>; +dies in Watts-Dunton’s arms, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page150">150</a></span>; illness of, anecdote concerning, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page153">153</a></span>; +Watts Dunton’s elegy on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span>; Cheyne Walk green dining-room, +description, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s description +of his house, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span>–69; his wit and humour, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page169">169</a></span>; +‘Spirit of the Rainbow,’ illustration to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page276">276</a></span>; references +to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page10">10</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page35">35</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page262">262</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page263">263</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—at Marston symposia; +the Gallic Parnassians; he advises the bardlings to write in +French, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>; interest in work of others; +reciting a bardling’s sonnet, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span>; wishes Watts to write his life, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page140">140</a></span>; +letter to author about Rossetti, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span>; Charles Augustus Howell (De <a +name="page475"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 475</span>Castro), +Rossetti’s opinion of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span>; portrait as D’Arcy in +‘Aylwin’; not idealized; ethics of portraiture of +friend; amazing detraction of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span>; too much written about him, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; relations +with his wife; Val Prinsep’s testimony, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; +‘lovable—most lovable,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; a pious +fraud, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span>; alleged rudeness to Princess +Louise, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span>; attitude to a disgraced friend, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page210">210</a></span>; the +dishonest critic; ‘By God, if I met such a man,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page211">211</a></span>; a +generous gift, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page267">267</a></span>; dislike of publicity; abashed by +an ‘Athenæum’ paragraph, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page263">263</a></span></p> +<p>Rossetti, W. M., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span></p> +<p>Rossetti, Mrs. W. M., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page275">275</a></span></p> +<p>Rous, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span></p> +<p>Ruskin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span></p> +<p>Russell, Lord John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page295">295</a></span></p> +<p>Ryan, W. P., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page378">378</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Salaman’ and ‘Absal’ of Jámi, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +<p>Saltabadil, Febvre as, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +<p>St. Aldegonde, Disraeli’s ‘softness of +touch’ in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page351">351</a></span></p> +<p>St. Francis of Assisi, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +<p>St. Ives, birthplace of Watts-Dunton, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page26">26</a></span>; old Saxon +name for, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span>; George Dyer and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page40">40</a></span>–41; +printing press at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span>; Union Book Club, +Watts-Dunton’s speech at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span>; History of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>; East Anglian +sympathies of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page78">78</a></span></p> +<p>St. Peter’s Port, visit of Swinburne and Watts-Dunton +to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span></p> +<p>Sainte-Beuve, Watts-Dunton compared to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page399">399</a></span></p> +<p>Saïs, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span></p> +<p>Samary, Jeanne, as Maguelonne, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +<p>Sampson, Mr., Romany scholar, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Sancho Panza, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page382">382</a></span></p> +<p>Sandys, Frederick, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page267">267</a></span></p> +<p>Sark, Swinburne and Watts-Dunton’s visit to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page269">269</a></span></p> +<p>‘Saturday Review,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page257">257</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page382">382</a></span></p> +<p>Savile Club, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span></p> +<p>Schiller, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span></p> +<p>‘Scholar Gypsy, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span></p> +<p>Schopenhauer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page247">247</a></span></p> +<p>Science, man’s good genius, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page47">47</a></span>–9</p> +<p>Science, Watts-Dunton’s speech on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page42">42</a></span>–9</p> +<p>Scott, Sir Walter, his humour, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span>; tribute to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page220">220</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page221">221</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page307">307</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page346">346</a></span>; +‘softness of touch’ in portraiture, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Scott, William Bell, anecdote of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +<p>‘Scullion, Sterne’s fat, foolish,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page249">249</a></span></p> +<p>‘Semaine Littéraire, La,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page347">347</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page380">380</a></span></p> +<p>Sex, witchery of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page391">391</a></span></p> +<p>‘Shadow on the Window Blind,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page164">164</a></span>: first +printed in Mackenzie Bell’s Study of Watts-Dunton in +‘Poets and Poetry of the Century,’ q.v.</p> +<p>Shakespeare, spirit of wonder in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page186">186</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span>; richness in style, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page328">328</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page355">355</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page382">382</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page394">394</a></span></p> +<p>‘Shales mare,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +<p>Shandys, the two, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span></p> +<p>Sharp, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>; scenery and atmosphere of +‘Aylwin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page276">276</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page284">284</a></span>; influence of Watts-Dunton on +Rossetti, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page399">399</a></span></p> +<p>Shaw, Byam, ‘Brynhild on Sigurd’s Funeral +Pyre,’ illustration of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page366">366</a></span></p> +<p>Shaw, Dr. Norton, intimacy with J. K. Watts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +<p>Shelley, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span>; ‘Epipsychidion,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page419">419</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page476"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +476</span>Shintoism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +<p>Shirley: see Skelton, Sir John</p> +<p>Shirley Essays, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span></p> +<p>‘Shirley,’ Watts-Dunton’s criticism of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page365">365</a></span></p> +<p>Shorter, Clement, his connection with Slepe Hall, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +<p>Sibilant, in poetry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page286">286</a></span>–88</p> +<p>Siddons, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +<p>Sidestrand, visit of Swinburne and Watts-Dunton to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page269">269</a></span></p> +<p>Sidney, Sir Philip, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page365">365</a></span></p> +<p>‘Sigurd,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page366">366</a></span></p> +<p>‘Silas Marner,’ public-house scene in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Sinfi Lovell, see Lovell</p> +<p>Skeleton, the Golden, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span> et seq.</p> +<p>Skelton, Sir John, his ‘Comedy of the Noctes +Ambrosianæ,’ Watts-Dunton’s review of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page190">190</a></span>–201; +Rossetti ‘Reminiscences,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page202">202</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page202">202</a></span></p> +<p>Sleaford, Lord, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page353">353</a></span></p> +<p>Slepe Hall, Clement Shorter’s connection with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page35">35</a></span>; story told +in connection with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span></p> +<p>Sly, Christopher, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span></p> +<p>Smalley, G. W., his article on Whistler, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page302">302</a></span></p> +<p>Smart set, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page353">353</a></span></p> +<p>‘Smart slating,’ Watts-Dunton on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page207">207</a></span></p> +<p>Smetham, James: see Wilderspin</p> +<p>Smith, Alexander, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span>; Herbert Spencer and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page213">213</a></span></p> +<p>Smith, Gypsy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page351">351</a></span></p> +<p>Smith, Sydney, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page43">43</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page196">196</a></span></p> +<p>Smollett, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page304">304</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Snowdon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page315">315</a></span></p> +<p>Socrates, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span></p> +<p>‘Softness of touch’ in fiction, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span></p> +<p>Sonnet, The, Essay on, reference to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +<p>Sophocles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page394">394</a></span></p> +<p>Sothern, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span></p> +<p>Spencer, Herbert, Alexander Smith and, +‘Athenæum’ anecdote, <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page212">212</a></span>–14</p> +<p>Spenser, Edmund, Spirit of Wonder in poetry of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +<p>Spirit of Place, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +<p>‘Spirit of the Sunrise,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page450">450</a></span></p> +<p>Sport, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span>–67; definition of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +<p>Sports, field, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +<p>Squeezing of books, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page191">191</a></span></p> +<p>Staël, Madame de, her struggle against tradition of 18th +century, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +<p>Stanley, Fenella, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page362">362</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page363">363</a></span></p> +<p>Stead, William Morris and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +<p>Stedman, Clarence, his remarks on ‘The Coming of +Love,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span></p> +<p>Sterne, his humour, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page246">246</a></span>–55; his indecencies, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page253">253</a></span>; his +‘softness of touch,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Sternhold, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page229">229</a></span></p> +<p>Stevenson, R. L., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s criticism of +‘Kidnapped’ and ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. +Hyde,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span>–21; letter from, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page216">216</a></span></p> +<p>Stillman, Mrs., Rossetti’s picture painted from, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +<p>Stone, E. D., “Christmas at the +‘Mermaid,’” Latin translation by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +<p>‘Stories after Nature,’ Wells’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page53">53</a></span>–55</p> +<p>Stourbridge Fair, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +<p>Strand, the symposium in the, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span></p> +<p>Stratford-on-Avon, Watts-Dunton’s poems on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page31">31</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page32">32</a></span>; see also +“Christmas at the ‘Mermaid,’” <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page423">423</a></span></p> +<p>Stress in poetry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page344">344</a></span></p> +<p>Strong, Prof. A. S., references to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page5">5</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page132">132</a></span>; article on +‘The Coming of Love,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page444">444</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span></p> +<p>Style, le, c’est la race, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page233">233</a></span></p> +<p>Style, the Great, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page234">234</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page477"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +477</span>Sufism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page449">449</a></span>; in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page454">454</a></span></p> +<p>‘Suicide Club, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page220">220</a></span></p> +<p>Sully, Professor, contributor to ‘Examiner,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +<p>Sunrise, Poet of the, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page398">398</a></span></p> +<p>Sunsets, in the Fens, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span></p> +<p>Surtees, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Swallow Falls, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page315">315</a></span></p> +<p>Swift, his humour the opposite of Sterne’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page250">250</a></span></p> +<p>Swinburne, Algernon Charles, acquaintance with J. O. Watts, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span>; +intercourse and friendship with Watts-Dunton, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page268">268</a></span>–74; +‘Jubilee Greeting’ dedicated to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page273">273</a></span>; partly +identified with Percy Aylwin, see description of his swimming, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page268">268</a></span>; +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page279">279</a></span>–84; at Théâtre +Française, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span>; dedications to Watts-Dunton, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page271">271</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page272">272</a></span>; +offensive newspaper caricatures of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span>; championship of Meredith, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page284">284</a></span>; on +‘Tom Jones,’ ‘Waverley,’ +‘Aylwin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span>; on ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page363">363</a></span>; references +to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page12">12</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page117">117</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page139">139</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page170">170</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page180">180</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page328">328</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page413">413</a></span>; <span +class="smcap">Anecdotes of</span>:—chambers in Great James +St., <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span>; +never a playgoer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>; life at ‘The Pines,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page262">262</a></span> et +seq.; the great Swinburne myth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span>; the American lady journalist, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page264">264</a></span>; an +imaginary interview, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page265">265</a></span>; an unlovely bard; painfully +‘afflated’; method of composition; ‘stamping +with both feet,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page265">265</a></span>; friendship with Watts began in +1872, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span>; inseparable since; housemates at +‘The Pines’; visit to Channel Islands; swimming in +Petit Bot Bay, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span>; Sark; ‘Orion’ +Horne’s bravado challenge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span>; visits Paris for Jubilee of +‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span>; swimming at Sidestrand; meets +Grant Allen, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span>; visits Eastbourne, Lancing, Isle +of Wight, Cromer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>; visits to Jowett; Jowett’s +admiration of Watts, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page279">279</a></span>; Balliol dinner parties, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page280">280</a></span>; at the +Bodleian, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page282">282</a></span>; great novels which are popular, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page273">273</a></span></p> +<p>Swinburne, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page299">299</a></span></p> +<p>Symons, Arthur, ‘Coming of Love,’ article on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page257">257</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Table-Talk, Watts-Dunton’s, Rossetti on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page183">183</a></span></p> +<p>Tabley, Lord de, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page277">277</a></span></p> +<p>Taine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span></p> +<p>‘Tale of Beowulf,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>Taliesin, ‘Song of the Wind,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page313">313</a></span></p> +<p>Talk on Waterloo Bridge,’ ‘A, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +<p>Tarno Rye, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page351">351</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page391">391</a></span></p> +<p>Tate and Brady, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span></p> +<p>Telepathy, dogs and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span>–6</p> +<p>Temple, Lord and Lady Mount, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +<p>Tenderness, in English hero, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page365">365</a></span></p> +<p>‘Tennyson, Alfred, Birthday Address,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +<p>‘Tennyson, Alfred,’ sonnet to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page286">286</a></span></p> +<p>Tennyson, Lord, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span>; dishonest criticism, opinion of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page211">211</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page285">285</a></span>; +Watts-Dunton’s criticism of and essays on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page289">289</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page290">290</a></span>; +‘Memoir,’ Watts-Dunton’s contribution, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page291">291</a></span>; anecdotes +concerning, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page287">287</a></span>–89; ‘The +Princess,’ defects of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span>; portraits of, +Watts-Dunton’s articles on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span>; ‘Maud,’ compared with +Rhona Boswell, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page413">413</a></span>; <a name="page478"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 478</span><span class="smcap">Watts-Dunton +and</span>:—sympathy between him and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page285">285</a></span>; sonnet on +birthday, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page286">286</a></span>; meeting at garden party; open +invitation to Aldworth and Farringford; his ear not defective, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page286">286</a></span>; +sensibility to delicate metrical nuances, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page287">287</a></span>; challenges +a sibilant in a sonnet, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page287">287</a></span>; ‘scent’ better than +‘scents,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page287">287</a></span>; his morbid modesty, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page288">288</a></span>; a poet is +not born to the purple, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span>; reading ‘Becket’ in +summer-house; desired free criticism, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page288">288</a></span>; alleged +rudeness to women, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span>; detraction of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page289">289</a></span>; could not +invent a story, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span>; the nucleus of +‘Maud,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span></p> +<p>Terry, Ellen, Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page117">117</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page121">121</a></span>; sonnet on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page122">122</a></span></p> +<p>Thackeray, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page295">295</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page305">305</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page328">328</a></span>; ‘softness of touch,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span>–53</p> +<p>Théâtre Française, Swinburne and Watts at, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span>–29</p> +<p>Thicket, The, St. Ives, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +<p>Thoreau, teaching of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span>; love of wind, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page371">371</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page442">442</a></span></p> +<p>Thuthe, the, Kisāgotámī and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page455">455</a></span>–6</p> +<p>‘Thyrsis,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +<p>Tieck, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +<p>‘Times,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span></p> +<p>‘Toast to Omar Khayyám,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span></p> +<p>Tooke, Horne, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +<p>‘T. P.’s Weekly,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +<p>‘Torquemada,’ motif of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +<p>Tourneur, Cyril, ‘spirit of wonder’ in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +<p>Traill, H. D., his criticism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page207">207</a></span>; Watts-Dunton’s meeting +with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>; review of his +‘Sterne,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page246">246</a></span>–55; his letter to MacColl, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page243">243</a></span>; +meets him at dinner, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>; picturesque appearance; boyish +lisp; calls at ‘The Pines’; interesting figures at +his gatherings; ‘a man of genius’; asks Watts to +write for ‘Literature’; his geniality as an editor, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page244">244</a></span>; why +‘Literature’ failed, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span></p> +<p>‘Travailleurs de la Mer, Les,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page370">370</a></span></p> +<p>‘Treasure Island,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page220">220</a></span></p> +<p>Triboulet, Got as, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span>–29</p> +<p>‘Tribute, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span></p> +<p>‘Tristram of Lyonesse,’ dedicated to Watts-Dunton, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page272">272</a></span></p> +<p>Troubadours and Trouvères, The, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204</a></span></p> +<p>Trus’hul, the Romany Cross, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +<p>Turner, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page299">299</a></span></p> +<p>Twentieth Century, Cosmogony of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Ukko, the Sky God, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +<p>‘Under the Greenwood Tree,’ rustic humour of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page186">186</a></span></p> +<p>‘Ups and Downs of an Old Nunnery,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Vacquerie, Auguste, ‘Le Roi s’Amuse’ +produced by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +<p>Vanbrugh, Irene, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +<p>Vanbrugh, Watts-Dunton’s article on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page258">258</a></span></p> +<p>Vance, the Great, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span></p> +<p>Vaughan, his ‘Hours with the Mystics,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +<p>‘Veiled Queen, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page229">229</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page375">375</a></span></p> +<p>Vernunft of Man, the Bible and the, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page230">230</a></span></p> +<p>Verse, English, accent in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page344">344</a></span></p> +<p>Vezin, Hermann, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span>; Mrs., <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +<p>Victoria, Queen, Watts-Dunton’s tribute to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page274">274</a></span></p> +<p>Villain in Hugo’s novels, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span>; ‘Aylwin,’ a novel +without a, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page349">349</a></span></p> +<p>Villon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span></p> +<p>Virgil, wonder in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +<p><a name="page479"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +479</span>Vision, absolute and relative, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page354">354</a></span>; in +‘Aylwin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page357">357</a></span> et seq.</p> +<p>‘Vita Nuova,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page412">412</a></span></p> +<p>‘Volsunga Saga,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span></p> +<p>Voltaire, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Wagner, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page412">412</a></span></p> +<p>Wahrheit and Dichtung, in ‘Aylwin,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +<p>Wales, Watts-Dunton’s sympathy with, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page312">312</a></span>; popularity +of ‘Aylwin’ in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page314">314</a></span>; descriptions of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page315">315</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page317">317</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page318">318</a></span>; Welsh +accent, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page319">319</a></span>–20</p> +<p>Wales, Prince of, anecdote of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +<p>Warburton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +<p>‘Wassail Chorus,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page438">438</a></span></p> +<p>Waterloo Bridge, Borrow on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +<p>‘Water of the Wondrous Isles,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +<p>Watson, William, Grant Allen on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page207">207</a></span></p> +<p>Watts, A. E., Watts-Dunton’s brother, articled as +solicitor, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span>; Cyril Aylwin, identification with, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page87">87</a></span>; his +humour, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span>; death, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +<p>Watts, G. F., Rossetti’s portrait by, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +<p>Watts, James Orlando, Watts-Dunton’s uncle, identity of +character with Philip Aylwin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>–60</p> +<p>Watts, J. K., Watts-Dunton’s father, account of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page53">53</a></span>; scientific +celebrities, intimacy with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span>–53; scientific reputation of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +<p>Watts, William K., description of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page160">160</a></span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">Watts-Dunton, Theodore</span>, memoirs of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>; +monograph on, reply to author’s suggestion to write, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page7">7</a></span>; plan of same, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>; +description of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page278">278</a></span>–9; +Boyhood:—birthplace, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span>; Cromwell’s elder wine, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page37">37</a></span>; Cambridge +school-days, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span>; St. Ives Union Book Club, speech +delivered at, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span>–49; family of Dunton, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page53">53</a></span>; father and +son—the double brain, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span>–5; as child critic, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page55">55</a></span>; interest in +sport and athletics, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span>; Deerfoot and the Prince of Wales, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page67">67</a></span>; period +of Nature study, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span>; articled to solicitor, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page72">72</a></span>; Life in +London:—solicitor’s practice, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page88">88</a></span>; life at +Sydenham, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>; London Society, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page353">353</a></span>; interest +in slum-life, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span>; connection with theatrical world, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>–35; +Characteristics:—Love of animals, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page38">38</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page39">39</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page82">82</a></span>–85; +interest in poor, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span>–4; conversational powers, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page183">183</a></span>; +genius for friendship, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page443">443</a></span>; indifference to fame, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page183">183</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204</a></span>; habit of +early rising, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page279">279</a></span>; influence, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page22">22</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page452">452</a></span>; dual +personality, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page322">322</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page356">356</a></span>; music, love of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page38">38</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span>; natural +science, proficiency in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span>; optimism, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page457">457</a></span>; +identification with Henry Aylwin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page356">356</a></span>; Romany blood in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page361">361</a></span>; +Writings:—‘Academy,’ invitation to write for, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page187">187</a></span>; +‘Athenæum,’ invitation to write for, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page188">188</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page202">202</a></span>; +contributions to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span>–201, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204</a></span>; his +treatise on Sonnet—Dr. Karl Leutzner on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span>; critical +principles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span>; ‘Encyclopædia +Britannica’ articles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page256">256</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page257">257</a></span>–8; difference between prose +and poetry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>; <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span>; poetic <a +name="page480"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 480</span>style, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page323">323</a></span>; +‘Examiner’ articles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>; see also Minto; Critical +Work:—Swinburne’s opinion of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span>; character of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page8">8</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span>–208; +critical and creative work, relation between, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page203">203</a></span>; critical +and imaginative work interwoven, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span>; School of Criticism founded, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>; Essays +on Tennyson, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span>; Lowell on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page399">399</a></span>; Dramatic +Criticism:—<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span>–30; Poetry:—<span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page393">393</a></span>–441; +Rossetti on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page399">399</a></span>; Prose Writings:—character +of, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page321">321</a></span>–25, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page327">327</a></span>–92, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page453">453</a></span>; +richness of style, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page330">330</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page333">333</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page336">336</a></span>; unity of his writings, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page445">445</a></span>; American +friends of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page295">295</a></span>–311; Gypsies, description of +first meeting with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span>; Friends, Reminiscences +of:—<span class="smcap">Appleton, Prof</span>: at Bell +Scott’s and Rossetti’s; Hegel on the brain; asks +Watts to write for ‘Academy,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page187">187</a></span>; wants him +to pith the German transcendentalists in two columns, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page188">188</a></span>; in a rage; +Watts explains why he has gone into enemy’s camp, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page201">201</a></span>; a +Philistine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span>; <span class="smcap">Black, +William</span>: resemblance to Watts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page185">185</a></span>; meeting at +Justin McCarthy’s, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page186">186</a></span>; Watts mistaken for Black, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page186">186</a></span>; <span +class="smcap">Borrow, George</span>: his first meeting with, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page95">95</a></span>; his +shyness, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span>; Watts attacks it; tries Bamfylde +Moore Carew; then tries beer, the British bruiser, philology, +Ambrose Gwinett, etc., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span>; a stroll in Richmond Park; visit +to ‘Bald-faced Stag’; Jerry Abershaw’s sword; +his gigantic green umbrella, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span>–102; tries Whittlesea Mere; +Borrow’s surprise; vipers of Norman Cross; Romanies and +vipers, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>; disclaims taint of +printers’ ink; ‘Who are you?’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page105">105</a></span>; an East +Midlander; the Shales Mare, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span>; Cromer sea best for swimming; +rainbow reflected in Ouse and Norfolk sand, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page106">106</a></span>; goes to a +gypsy camp; talks about Matthew Arnold’s +‘Scholar-Gypsy,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span>; resolves to try it on gypsy +woman; watches hawk and magpie, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span>; meets Perpinia Boswell; +‘the popalated gypsy of Codling Gap,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page110">110</a></span>; Rhona +Boswell, girl of the dragon flies; the sick chavo; forbids Pep to +smoke, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span>; description of Rhona, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page113">113</a></span>; the +Devil’s Needles; reads Glanville’s story; Rhona bored +by Arnold, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span>; hatred of tobacco, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page115">115</a></span>; last sight +of Borrow on Waterloo Bridge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span>; sonnet on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page116">116</a></span>; <span +class="smcap">Brown, Madox</span>: <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page12">12</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>; anecdote about portrait of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page274">274</a></span>; <span +class="smcap">Brown, Oliver Madox</span>: his novel, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page274">274</a></span>–6; +<span class="smcap">Browning</span>: Watts chaffs him in +‘Athenæum’; chided by Swinburne, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page222">222</a></span>; <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page223">223</a></span>–27; +sees him at Royal Academy private view; Lowell advises him to +slip away; bets he will be more cordial than ever; Lowell +astonished at his magnanimity, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page222">222</a></span>–23; the <a +name="page481"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 481</span>review in +question, ‘Ferishtah’s Fancies,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page223">223</a></span>–26; +<span class="smcap">Groome, Frank</span>: a luncheon at +‘The Pines,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span>; ‘Old Fitz’; patted on +the head by, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span>; see also <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page50">50</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page68">68</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page72">72</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page285">285</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page364">364</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page372">372</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page420">420</a></span>; <span +class="smcap">Hake, Gordon</span>: Introduces Borrow, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page95">95</a></span>; see +‘New Day’; physician to Rossetti and to Lady Ripon, +<span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span>–91; <span class="smcap">Harte, +Bret</span>: Watts’s estimate of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page302">302</a></span>–11; +histrionic gifts, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page302">302</a></span>; meeting with; drive round London +music halls, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page303">303</a></span>; ‘Holborn,’ +‘Oxford’; Evans’s supper-rooms; Paddy Green; +meets him again at breakfast; a fine actor lost, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page303">303</a></span>; <span +class="smcap">Lowell, James Russell</span>: meets him at dinner, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page295">295</a></span>; he +attacks England; directs diatribe at Watts; he retorts; a verbal +duel, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page296">296</a></span>; recognition; cites Watts’s +first article, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page298">298</a></span>; his anglophobia turns into +anglomania, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page299">299</a></span>; likes English climate, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page300">300</a></span>; <span +class="smcap">Marston, Westland</span>: symposia at Chalk Farm; +famous actors and actresses, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>; table talk about ‘The +Bells’ and ‘Rip Van Winkle,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span>; on staff +of ‘Examiner,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>; the sub-Swinburnians at the +Marston mornings; the divine Théophile; the Gallic +Parnassus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>; <span class="smcap">Meredith, +George</span>: <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page283">283</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page284">284</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page328">328</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page417">417</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span>; <span class="smcap">Minto, +Prof</span>.: neighbours in Danes Inn; editing +‘Examiner’; secures Watts; first article appears; +Bell Scott’s party; Scott wants to know name of new writer, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page184">184</a></span>; +Watts slates himself, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span>; Minto’s Monday evening +symposia, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span>; <span class="smcap">Morris, +William</span>: Marston mornings at Chalk Farm; ‘nosey +Latin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>; Wednesday evenings at Danes Inn; +Swinburne, Watts, Marston, Madox Brown and Morris, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page170">170</a></span>; at +Kelmscott, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>; passion for angling, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page171">171</a></span>; snoring of +young owls, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span>; causeries at Kelmscott, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span>; the only +reviews he read, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>; the little carpetless room, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page175">175</a></span>; writes 750 +lines in twelve hours, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span>; the crib on his desk, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page177">177</a></span>; offers to +bring out an édition-de-luxe of Watts’s poems; gets +subscribers; a magnificent royalty, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span>; presentation copies; extravagant +generosity; ‘All right, old chap’; ‘Ned Jones +and I,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span>; ‘Algernon pay £10 for +a book of mine!’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span>; disgusted with Stead, the +music-hall singer and dancer; ‘damned tomfoolery,’ +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181</a></span>; +<span class="smcap">Rossetti, Dante Gabriel</span>: at Marston +symposia; the Gallic Parnassians; he advises the bardlings to +write in French, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>; interest in work of others; +reciting a bardling’s sonnet, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span>; wishes Watts to write his life, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page140">140</a></span>; +Swinburne on Watts’s influence over, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page139">139</a></span>; letter to +author about Rossetti, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span>; Charles Augustus Howell (De +Castro), Rossetti’s opinion of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page142">142</a></span>; portrait +as D’Arcy in ‘Aylwin’; not idealized; ethics of +portraiture of <a name="page482"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +482</span>friend; amazing detraction of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144</a></span>; too much +written about him, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span>; relations with his wife; Val +Prinsep’s testimony, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span>; ‘lovable, most +lovable,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span>; dies in Watts’s arms, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150</a></span>; a pious +fraud, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span>; alleged rudeness to Princess +Louise, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span>; described in +‘Aylwin,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span>–9; his wit and humour, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page169">169</a></span>; attitude +to a disgraced friend, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page210">210</a></span>; the dishonest critic; ‘By +God, if I met such a man,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page211">211</a></span>; a generous gift, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page267">267</a></span>; dislike of +publicity; abashed by an ‘Athenæum’ paragraph, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page263">263</a></span>; +<span class="smcap">Swinburne, Algernon Charles</span>: James +Orlando Watts and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span>; chambers in Great James Street, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span>; life +at ‘The Pines,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span> et seq.; offensive newspaper +caricature of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span>; the great Swinburne myth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page263">263</a></span>; the +American lady journalist, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page264">264</a></span>; an imaginary interview, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page265">265</a></span>; an +unlovely bard; painfully ‘afflated’; method of +composition; ‘stamping with both feet,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page265">265</a></span>; friendship +with Watts began in 1872, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span>; inseparable since; housemates at +‘The Pines’; visit to Channel Islands; swimming in +Petit Bot Bay, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span>; Sark; ‘Orion’ +Horne’s bravado challenge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span>; visits Paris for Jubilee of +‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span>; swimming at Sidestrand; meets +Grant Allen, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span>; visits Eastbourne, Lancing, Isle +of Wight, Cromer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>; sonnet to Watts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page271">271</a></span>; dedicates +‘Tristram of Lyonesse’ to Watts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page272">272</a></span>; also +Collected Edition of Poems, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page272">272</a></span>; visits to Jowett; Jowett’s +admiration of Watts, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page279">279</a></span>; Balliol dinner parties, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page280">280</a></span>; at the +Bodleian, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page282">282</a></span>; great novels which are popular, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page273">273</a></span>; +champions Meredith, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page284">284</a></span>; <span class="smcap">Tennyson, +Alfred</span>: friendship with, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page285">285</a></span>; sympathy between him and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page285">285</a></span>; sonnet on +birthday, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page286">286</a></span>; meeting at garden party; open +invitation to Aldworth and Farringford; his ear not defective, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page286">286</a></span>; +sensibility to delicate metrical nuances, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page287">287</a></span>; challenges +a sibilant in a sonnet, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page287">287</a></span>; ‘scent’ better than +‘scents,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page287">287</a></span>; his morbid modesty, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page288">288</a></span>; a poet is +not born to the purple, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span>; reading ‘Becket’ in +summer-house; desired free criticism, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page288">288</a></span>; alleged +rudeness to women, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span>; detraction of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page289">289</a></span>; could not +invent a story, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span>; the nucleus of +‘Maud,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span>; his articles on portraits of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page290">290</a></span>; +<span class="smcap">Traill</span>, H. D.: reviews his +‘Sterne’; his letter to MacColl, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page243">243</a></span>; meets him +at dinner, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>; picturesque appearance; boyish +lisp; calls at ‘The Pines’; interesting figures at +his gatherings; ‘a man of genius’; asks Watts to +write for ‘Literature’; his geniality as an editor, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page244">244</a></span>; why +‘Literature’ failed, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span>; <span +class="smcap">Whistler</span>, <span class="smcap">J. +McNeill</span>: Cyril Aylwin not a portrait of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page88">88</a></span>; anecdotes of +De Castro, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span>; neighbour of Rossetti, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page156">156</a></span>; close +friendship with Watts, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span>; hostility to Royal Academy, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page301">301</a></span>–2; +his first <a name="page483"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +483</span>lithographs, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span>–2; engaged with Watts on +‘Piccadilly,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page353">353</a></span>; ‘To Theodore Watts, the +Worldling,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page353">353</a></span></p> +<p>Watts-Dunton, Theodore, Swinburne’s sonnets to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page271">271</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page272">272</a></span></p> +<p>‘Waverley,’ Swinburne on; its new dramatic method; +cause of its success; imitated by Dumas, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page346">346</a></span></p> +<p>Way, T., Whistler’s first lithographs, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page301">301</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page302">302</a></span></p> +<p>Webster, ‘Spirit of Wonder’ in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +<p>‘Well at the World’s End,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +<p>Wells, Charles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span>–55</p> +<p>‘Westminster Abbey, In’ (Burial of Tennyson), +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page291">291</a></span></p> +<p>‘W. H. Mr.,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page424">424</a></span>–26</p> +<p>‘What the Silent Voices said,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page291">291</a></span></p> +<p>Whewell, intimacy with J. K. Watts, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +<p>Whistler, J. McNeill:—Cyril Aylwin not a portrait of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page88">88</a></span>; +anecdotes of De Castro, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span>; neighbour of Rossetti, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page156">156</a></span>; close +friendship with Watts, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span>; his first lithographs, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page301">301</a></span>–2; +hostility to Royal Academy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span>–2; engaged with Watts on +‘Piccadilly,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page301">301</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page353">353</a></span>; ‘To Theodore Watts, the +Worldling,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page353">353</a></span></p> +<p>White, Gilbert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +<p>Whiteing, Richard, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span></p> +<p>‘White Ship, The,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span></p> +<p>Whittlesea Mere, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span></p> +<p>Whyte-Melville, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page352">352</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span></p> +<p>Wilderspin, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span>: see Smetham, James</p> +<p>Wilkie, his realism, humour of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span></p> +<p>Williams,’ Scholar,’ contributor to +‘Examiner,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +<p>Williams, Smith, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page275">275</a></span></p> +<p>‘William Wilson,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span></p> +<p>Willis, Parker, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page264">264</a></span></p> +<p>Wilson, Professor, Watts-Dunton’s essay on his +‘Noctes Ambrosianæ,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page190">190</a></span>–201</p> +<p>Wimbledon Common, Borrow and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span>; Watts-Dunton and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page279">279</a></span></p> +<p>Wind, love of the, Thoreau’s, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page370">370</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page371">371</a></span></p> +<p>Women, as actresses, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span>; heroic type of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page365">365</a></span></p> +<p>Wonder: see Renascence of Wonder; old and new, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>; Bible as +great book of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page228">228</a></span>; place in race development, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +<p>‘Wood-Haunter’s Dream, The,’ <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page276">276</a></span></p> +<p>Wordsworth, William, definition of language, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page39">39</a></span>; his ideal +John Bull, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page224">224</a></span></p> +<p>Word-twisting, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page327">327</a></span></p> +<p>Work, heresy of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +<p>‘World,’ The, Rossetti’s letter to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page155">155</a></span></p> +<p>‘World’s Classics,’ edition of +‘Aylwin’ in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span></p> +<p>‘Wuthering Heights,’ <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page342">342</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span></p> +<p>Wynne, Winifred, character of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page314">314</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page315">315</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page363">363</a></span>; love of the wind, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page371">371</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Yarmouth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +<p>Yorickism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page250">250</a></span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Zoroaster, heresy of work, 68; definition of poetry, 398</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Butler & Tanner, The Selwood +Printing Works, Frome, and London.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> ‘Studies in +Prose.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> ‘Chambers’s +Encyclopædia,’ vol. x., p. 581.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34" +class="footnote">[34]</a> The meanings of the gypsy words +are:</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>baval</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">wind</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>chaw</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">grass</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>chirikels</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">birds</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>dukkerin’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">fortune-telling</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>farmin’ ryes</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">farmers</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>gals</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">girls</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>ghyllie</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">song</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>ghyllie</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">song</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>gorgie</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Gentile woman</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>gorgies</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Gentiles</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>kairs</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">homes</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>kas</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">hay</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>kas-kairin’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">haymaking</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>kem</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">sun</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>lennor</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">summer</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>puv</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">field</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Romany chies</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">gypsy girls</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Shoshus</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">hares </p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p><a name="footnote60"></a><a href="#citation60" +class="footnote">[60]</a> ‘Notes and Queries,’ +August 2, 1902.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73a"></a><a href="#citation73a" +class="footnote">[73a]</a> Among the gypsies of all +countries the happiest possible ‘Dukkeripen’ (i.e. +prophetic symbol of Natura Mystica) is a hand-shaped golden cloud +floating in the sky. It is singular that the same idea is +found among races entirely disconnected with them—the +Finns, for instance, with whom Ukko, the ‘sky god,’ +or ‘angel of the sunrise,’ was called the +‘golden king’ and ‘leader of the clouds,’ +and his Golden Hand was more powerful than all the army of +Death. The ‘Golden Hand’ is sometimes called +the Lover’s Dukkeripen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73b"></a><a href="#citation73b" +class="footnote">[73b]</a> Good-luck.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74"></a><a href="#citation74" +class="footnote">[74]</a> Child.</p> +<p><a name="footnote76"></a><a href="#citation76" +class="footnote">[76]</a> Pretty mouth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82"></a><a href="#citation82" +class="footnote">[82]</a> A famous swimming dog belonging +to the writer.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88"></a><a href="#citation88" +class="footnote">[88]</a> ‘Notes and Queries,’ +June 7, 1902.</p> +<p><a name="footnote112"></a><a href="#citation112" +class="footnote">[112]</a> Bosom.</p> +<p><a name="footnote139"></a><a href="#citation139" +class="footnote">[139]</a> I think I am not far wrong in +saying that he whom Mr. Benson heard make this remark was a more +illustrious poet than even D. G. Rossetti, the greatest poet +indeed of the latter half of the nineteenth century, the author +of ‘Erechtheus’ and ‘Atalanta in +Calydon.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147" +class="footnote">[147]</a> As Mr. Swinburne has pronounced +Mr. Stone’s translation to be in itself so fine as to be +almost a work of genius, I will quote it here:—</p> +<p style="text-align: +center">Θειος +ἀοιδός</p> +<blockquote><p>Felix, qui potuit gentem illustrare canendo,<br /> +quique decus patriae claris virtutibus addit<br /> +succurritque laboranti, tutamque periclis<br /> +eruit, hostilesque minas avertit acerbo<br /> +dente lacessitae; bene, quicquid fecerit audax,<br /> +explevisse iuvat: metam tenet ille quadrigis,<br /> +praemia victor habet, quamvis tuba vivida famae<br /> +ignoret titulos, vel si flammante sagitta<br /> +oppugnet Livor quam mens sibi muniit arcem.<br /> +quod si fata mihi virtutis gaudia tantae<br /> +invideant, nec fas Anglorum extendere fines<br /> +latius, et nitidae primordia libertatis,<br /> +Anglia cui praecepit iter, cantare poetae;<br /> +si numeris laudare meam vel marte Parentem<br /> +non mihi contingat, nec Divom adsumere vires<br /> +atque inconcessos sibi vindicet alter honores,<br /> +dignior ille mihi frater, quem iure saluto—<br /> +illum divino praestantem numine amabo.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote157"></a><a href="#citation157" +class="footnote">[157]</a> Philip Bourke Marston.</p> +<p><a name="footnote286"></a><a href="#citation286" +class="footnote">[286]</a> According to a Mohammedan +tradition, the mountains of Kaf are entirely composed of gems, +whose reflected splendours colour the sky.</p> +<p><a name="footnote291"></a><a href="#citation291" +class="footnote">[291]</a> ‘Tennyson: A +Memoir,’ by his son (1897), vol. ii. p. 479.</p> +<p><a name="footnote339"></a><a href="#citation339" +class="footnote">[339]</a> “Tanto è vero, che +‘Aylwin’ fu cominciato a scrivere in versi, e mutato +di forma soltanto quando l’intreccio, in certo modo +prendendo la mano al poeta, rese necessario un genere di sua +natura meno astretto alla rappresentazione di scorcio; e che +l’Avvento d’amore, ove le circostanze di fatto sono +condensate in modo da dar pieno risalto al motivo filosofico, +riesce una cosa, a mio credere, più perfetta.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote383"></a><a href="#citation383" +class="footnote">[383]</a> ‘Notes and Queries,’ +June 7, 1902.</p> +<p><a name="footnote403a"></a><a href="#citation403a" +class="footnote">[403a]</a> Mostly pronounced +‘mullo,’ but sometimes in the East Midlands +‘mollo.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote403b"></a><a href="#citation403b" +class="footnote">[403b]</a> Mostly pronounced +‘kaulo,’ but sometimes in the East Midlands +‘kollo.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote404"></a><a href="#citation404" +class="footnote">[404]</a> The gypsies are great observers +of the cuckoo, and call certain spring winds ‘cuckoo +storms,’ because they bring over the cuckoo earlier than +usual.</p> +<p><a name="footnote427"></a><a href="#citation427" +class="footnote">[427]</a> ‘England is a country that +can never be conquered while the Sovereign thereof has the +command of the sea.’—<span +class="smcap">Raleigh</span>.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 41792-h.htm or 41792-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/1/7/9/41792 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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